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***  For  sale  by  all  Booksellers.    Sent  by  mail,  post-paid,  on 
receipt  of  price  by  the  Publishers, 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO.,  BOSTON,  MASS. 


BY  SHORE   AND   SEDGE 


BRET   HARTE 


BOSTON 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

New  York:  11  East  Seventeenth  Street 

2Cfj£  BtfoerstUe  ^prsss,  CamirtUge 

1885 


Copyright,  1885, 
BY  BRET   IIARTE. 


All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge? 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  &  Co. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES 5 

SARAH  WALKER 61 

A  SHIP  OF  '49 97 


862315 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE   TULES. 


ON  October  10, 1856,  about  four  hundred 
people  were  camped  in  Tasajara  Valley, 
California.  It  could  not  have  been  for  the 
prospect,  since  a  more  barren,  dreary,  mo- 
notonous, and  uninviting  landscape  never 
stretched  before  human  eye ;  it  could  not 
have  been  for  convenience  or  contiguity, 
as  the  nearest  settlement  was  thirty  miles 
away ;  it  could  not  have  been  for  health  or 
salubrity,  as  the  breath  of  the  ague-haunted 
tules  in  the  outlying  Stockton  marshes  swept 
through  the  valley ;  it  could  not  have  been 
for  space  or  comfort,  for,  encamped  on  an 
unlimited  plain,  men  and  women  were  hud- 
cjjled  together  as  closely  as  in  an  urban  tene- 


6  AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE    TULES. 

ment-house,  without  the  freedom  or  decency 
of  rural  isolation  ;  it  could  not  have  been 
for  pleasant  companionship,  as  dejection, 
mental  anxiety,  tears,  and  lamentation  were 
the  dominant  expression ;  it  was  not  a  hur- 
ried flight  from  present  or  impending  ca- 
lamity, for  the  camp  had  been  deliberately 
planned,  and  for  a  week  pioneer  wagons  had 
been  slowly  arriving ;  it  was  not  an  irrevo- 
cable exodus,  for  some  had  already  returned 
to  their  homes  that  others  might  take  their 
places.  It  was  simply  a  religious  revival  of 
one  or  two  denominational  sects,  known  as  a 
"  camp-meeting." 

A  large  central  tent  served  for  the  assem- 
bling of  the  principal  congregation ;  smaller 
tents  served  for  prayer-meetings  and  class- 
rooms, known  to  the  few  unbelievers  as 
"side-shows;"  while  the  actual  dwellings 
of  the  worshipers  were  rudely  extemporized 
shanties  of  boards  and  canvas,  sometimes 
mere  corrals  or  inclosures  open  to  the  cloud- 
less sky,  or  more  often  the  unhitched  COY- 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULE8.  7 

ered  wagon  which  had  brought  them  there. 
The  singular  resemblance  to  a  circus,  already 
profanely  suggested,  was  carried  out  by  a 
straggling  fringe  of  boys  and  half-grown 
men  on  the  outskirts  of  the  encampment, 
acrimonious  with  disappointed  curiosity,  lazy 
without  the  careless  ease  of  vagrancy,  and 
vicious  without  the  excitement  of  dissipation. 
For  the  coarse  poverty  and:  brutal  economy 
of  the  larger  arrangements,  the  dreary  pan- 
orania  of  unlovely  and  unwholesome  domes- 
tic details  always  before  the  eyes,  were 
hardly  exciting  to  the  senses.  The  circus 
might  have  been  more  dangerous,  but  sca^e- 
ly  more  brutalizing.  The  actors  themselves, 
hard  and  aggressive  through  practical  strug- 
gles, often  warped  and  twisted  with  chronic 
forms  of  smaller  diseases,  or  malformed  and 
crippled  through  carelessness  and  neglect, 
and  restless  and  uneasy  through  some  vague 
mental  distress  and  inquietude  that  they  had 
added  to  their  burdens,  were  scarcely  amus- 
ing performers.  The  rheumatic  Parkinsons, 


8  AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE   TULES. 

from  Green  Springs;  the  ophthalmic  Fil- 
gees,  from  Alder  Creek  ;  the  ague-stricken 
Harneys,  from  Martinez  Bend  ;  and  the  fee- 
ble-limbed Steptons,  from  Sugar  Mill,  might, 
in  their  combined  families,  have  suggested  a 
hospital,  rather  than  any  other  social  assem- 
blage. Even  their  companionship,  which 
had  little  of  cheerful  fellowship  in  it,  would 
have  been  grotesque  but  for  the  pathetic  in- 
stinct of  some  mutual  vague  appeal  from 
the  hardness  of  their  lives  and  the  helpless- 
ness of  their  conditions  that  had  brought 
them  together.  Nor  was  this  appeal  to  a 
Hj^her  Power  any  the  less  pathetic  that  it 
bore  no  reference  whatever  to  their  respec- 
tive needs  or  deficiencies,  but  was  always 
an  invocation  for  a  light  which,  when  they 
believed  they  had  found  it,  to  unregenerate 
eyes  scarcely  seemed  to  illumine  the  rugged 
path  in  which  their  feet  were  continually 
stumbling.  One  might  have  smiled  at  the 
idea  of  the  vendetta  -  following  Ferguses 
praying  for  "  justification  by  Faith,"  but 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULE8.  9 

the  actual  spectacle  of  old  Simon  Fergus, 
whose  shot-gun  was  still  in  his  wagon,  offer- 
ing up  that  appeal  with  streaming  eyes  and 
agonized  features  was  painful  beyond  a 
doubt.  To  seek  and  obtain  an  exaltation  of 
feeling  vaguely  known  as  "  It,"  or  less  vague- 
ly veiling  a  sacred  name,  was  the  burden  of 
the  general  appeal. 

The  large  tent  had  been  filled,  and  be- 
tween the  exhortations  a  certain  gloomy  en- 
thusiasm had  been  kept  up  by  singing,  which 
had  the  effect  of  continuing  in  an  easy, 
rhythmical,  impersonal,  and  irresponsible 
way  the  sympathies  of  the  meeting.  This 
was  interrupted  by  a  young  man  who  rose 
suddenly,  with  that  spontaneity  of  impulse 
which  characterized  the  speakers,  but  unlike 
his  predecessors,  he  remained  for  a  moment 
mute,  trembling,  and  irresolute.  The  fatal 
hesitation  seemed  to  check  the  unreasoning, 
monotonous  flow  of  emotion,  and  to  recall  to 
some  extent  the  reason  and  even  the  criti- 
cism of  the  worshipers.  He  stammered  a 


10  AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE   TULES. 

prayer  whose  earnestness  was  undoubted, 
whose  humility  was  but  too  apparent,  but 
his  words  fell  on  faculties  already  benumbed 
by  repetition  and  rhythm.  A  slight  move- 
ment of  curiosity  in  the  rear  benches,  and  a 
whisper  that  it  was  the  maiden  effort  of  a 
new  preacher,  helped  to  prolong  the  interrup- 
tion. A  heavy  man  of  strong  physical  ex- 
pression sprang  to  the  rescue  with  a  hyster- 
ical cry  of  "  Glory !  "  and  a  tumultuous  flu- 
ency of  epithet  and  sacred  adjuration.  Still 
the  meeting  wavered.  With  one  final  parox- 
ysmal cry,  the  powerful  man  threw  his  arms 
around  his  nearest  neighbor  and  burst  into 
silent  tears.  An  anxious  hush  followed  ;  the 
speaker  still  continued  to  sob  on  *his  neigh- 
bor's shoulder.  Almost  before  the  fact 
could  be  commented  upon,  it  was  noticed 
that  the  entire  rank  of  worshipers  on  the 
bench  beside  him  were  crying  also ;  the  sec- 
ond and  third  rows  were  speedily  dissolved 
in  tears,  until  even  the  very  youthful  scoffers 
in  the  last  benches  suddenly  found  their 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE   TULES.  11 

half -hysterical  laughter  turned  to  sobs.  The 
danger  was  averted,  the.  reaction  was  com- 
plete ;  the  singing  commenced,  and  in  a  few 
moments  the  hapless  cause  of  the  interrup- 
tion and  the  man  who  had  retrieved  the  dis- 
aster stood  together  outside  the  tent.  A 
horse  was  picketed  near  them. 

The  victor  was  still  panting  from  his  late 
exertions,  and  was  more  or  less  diluvial  in 
eye  and  nostril,  but  neither  eye  nor  nostril 
bore  the  slightest  tremor  of  other  expression. 
His  face  was  stolid  and  perfectly  in  keeping 
with  his  physique,  —  heavy,  animal,  and  un- 
intelligent. 

"Ye  oughter  trusted  in  the  Lord,"  he 
said  to  the  young  preacher. 

"  But  I  did,"  responded  the  young  man, 
earnestly. 

"  That 's  it.  Justifyin'  yourself  by  works 
instead  o'  leanin'  onto  Him!  Find  Him, 
sez  you !  Git  Him,  sez  you !  Works  is 
vain.  Glory !  glory !  "  he  continued,  with 
fluent  vacuity  and  wandering,  dull,  obser- 
vant eyes. 


12  AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE    TULES. 

"But  if  I  had  a  little  more  practice  in 
class,  Brother  Silas,  more  education  ?  " 

"  The  letter  killeth,"  interrupted  Brother 
Silas.  Here  his  wandering  eyes  took  dull 
cognizance  of  two  female  faces  peering 
through  the  opening  of  the  tent.  "  No,  yer 
inishun,  Brother  Gideon,  is  to  seek  Him  in 
the  by-ways,  in  the  wilderness,  —  where  the 
foxes  hev  holes  and  the  ravens  hev  their 
young,  —  but  not  in  the  Temples  of  the  peo- 
ple. Wot  sez  Sister  Parsons  ?  " 

One  of  the  female  faces  detached  itself 
from  the  tent  flaps,  which  it  nearly  resem- 
bled in  color,  and  brought  forward  an  angu- 
lar figure  clothed  in  faded  fustian  that  had 
taken  the  various  shades  and  odors  of  house- 
hold service. 

"  Brother  Silas  speaks  well,"  said  Sister 
Parsons,  with  stridulous  fluency.  "  It 's  fore- 
ordained. Fore-ordinashun  is  better  nor  or- 
dinashun,  saith  the  Lord.  He  shall  go  forth, 
turnin'  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  the  left 
hand,  and  seek  Him  among  the  lost  tribes 


AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE  TITLES.  13 

and  the  ungodly.  He  shall  put  aside  the 
temptashun  of  Mammon  and  the  flesh." 
Her  eyes  and  those  of  Brother  Silas  here 
both  sought  the  other  female  face,  which  was 
that  of  a  young  girl  of  seventeen. 

"Wot  sez  little  Sister  Meely,  —  wot  sez 
Meely  Parsons?"  continued  Brother  Silas, 
as  if  repeating  an  unctuous  formula. 

The  young  girl  came  hesitatingly  forward, 
and  with  a  nervous  cry  of  "  Oh,  Gideon !  " 
threw  herself  on  the  breast  of  the  young 
man. 

For  a  moment  they  remained  locked  in 
each  other's  arms.  In  the  promiscuous  and 
fraternal  embracings  which  were  a  part  of 
the  devotional  exercises  of  the  hour,  the 
act  passed  without  significance.  The  young 
man  gently  raised  her  face.  She  was  young 
and  comely,  albeit  marked  with  a  half- 
frightened,  half -vacant  sorrow.  "Amen," 
said  Brother  Gideon,  gravely. 

He  mounted  his  horse  and  turned  to  go. 
Brother  Silas  had  clasped  his  powerful  arms 


14     AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES. 

around  both  women,  and  was  holding  them 
in  a  ponderous  embrace. 

"  Go  forth,  young  man,  into  the  wilder- 
ness." 

The  young  man  bowed  his  head,  and 
urged  his  horse  forward  in  the  bleak  and 
barren  plain.  In  half  an  hour  every  vestige 
of  the  camp  and  its  unwholesome  surround- 
ings was  lost  in  the  distance.  It  was  as  if 
the  strong  desiccating  wind,  which  seemed  to 
spring  up  at  his  horse's  feet,  had  cleanly 
erased  the  flimsy  structures  from  the  face  of 
the  plain,  swept  away  the  lighter  breath  of 
praise  and  plaint,  and  dried  up  the  easy- 
flowing  tears.  The  air  was  harsh  but  pure ; 
the  grim  economy  of  form  and 'Shade  and 
color  in  the  level  plain  was  coarse  but  not 
vulgar;  the  sky  above  him  was  cold  and 
distant  but  not  repellent ;  the  moisture  that 
had  been  denied  his  eyes  at  the  prayer-meet- 
ing overflowed  them  here ;  the  words  that 
had  choked  his  utterance  an  hour  ago  now 
rose  to  his  lips.  He  threw  himself  from  his 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE   TULES.  15 

horse,  and  kneeling  in  the  withered  grass  — 
a  mere  atom  in  the  boundless  plain  —  lifted 
his  pale  face  against  the  irresponsive  blue 
and  prayed. 

He  prayed  that  the  unselfish  dream  of 
his  bitter  boyhood,  his  disappointed  youth, 
might  come  to  pass.  He  prayed  that  he 
might  in  higher  hands  become  the  hirlhble 
instrument  of  good  to  his  fellow-man.  He 
prayed  that  the  deficiencies  of  his  scant  edu- 
cation, his  self-taught  learning,  his  helpless 
isolation,  and  his  inexperience  might  be  over- 
looked or  reinforced  by  grace.  He  prayed 
that  the  Infinite  Compassion  might  enlighten 
his  ignorance  and  solitude  with  a  manifes- 
tation of  the  Spirit ;  in  his  very  weakness 
he  prayed  for  some  special  revelation,  some 
sign  or  token,  some  visitation  or  gracious 
unbending  from  that  coldly  lifting  sky.  The 
low  sun  burned  the  black  edge  of  the  distant 
tules  with  dull  eating  fires  as  he  prayed,  lit 
the  dwarfed  hills  with  a  brief  but  ineffectual 
radiance,  and  then  died  out.  The  lingering 


16  AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE   TULES. 

trade  winds  fired  a  few  volleys  over  its 
grave,  and  then  lapsed  into  a  chilly  silence. 
The  young  man  staggered  to  his  feet ;  it  was 
quite  dark  now,  but  the  coming  night  had 
advanced  a  few  starry  vedettes  so  near  the 
plain  they  looked  like  human  watch-fires. 
For  an  instant  he  could  not  remember  where 
he  Was.  Then  a  light  trembled  far  down 
at  the  entrance  of  the  valley.  Brother  Gid- 
eon recognized  it.  It  was  in  the  lonely 
farmhouse  of  the  widow  of  the  last  Circuit 
preacher. 

II. 

The  abode  of  the  late  Reverend  Marvin 
Hiler  remained  in  the  disorganized  condi- 
tion he  had  left  it  when  removed  from  his 
sphere  of  earthly  uselessness  and  contin- 
uous accident.  The  straggling  fence  that 
only  half  inclosed  the  house  and  barn  had 
stopped  at  that  point  where  the  two  deacons 
who  had  each  volunteered  to  do  a  day's 
work  on  it  had  completed  their  allotted 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES.  17 

time.  The  building  of  the  barn  had  been 
arrested  when  the  half  load  of  timber  con- 
tributed by  Sugar  Mill  brethren  was  exhaust- 
ed, and  three  windows  given  by  "  Christian 
Seekers "  at  Martinez  painfully  accented 
the  boarded  spaces  for  the  other  three  that 
"  Unknown  Friends  "  in  Tasajara  had  prom- 
ised but  not  yet  supplied.  In  the  clearing 
some  trees  that  had  been  felled  but  not  taken 
away  added  to  the  general  incompleteness. 

Something  of  this  unfinished  character 
clung  to  the  Widow  Hiler  and  asserted  itself 
in  her  three  children,  one  of  whom  was  con- 
sistently posthumous.  Prematurely  old  and 
prematurely  disappointed,  she  had  all  the 
inexperience  of  girlhood  with  the  cares  of 
maternity,  and  kept  in  her  family  circle  the 
freshness  of  an  old  maid's  misogynistic  an- 
tipathies with  a  certain  guilty  and  remorse- 
ful consciousness  of  widowhood.  She  sup- 
ported the  meagre  household  to  which  her 
husband  had  contributed  only  the  extra 
mouths  to  feed  with  reproachful  astonish- 


18     AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES. 

ment  and  weary  incapacity.  She  had  long 
since  grown  tired  of  trying  to  make  both 
ends  meet,  of  which  she  declared  "  the  Lord 
had  taken  one."  During  her  two  years' 
widowhood  she  had  waited  on  Providence, 
who  by  a  pleasing  local  fiction  had  been 
made  responsible  for  the  disused  and  cast- 
off  furniture  and  clothing  which,  accom- 
panied with  scriptural  texts,  found  their  way 
mysteriously  into  her  few  habitable  rooms. 
The  providential  manna  was  not  always 
fresh  ;  the  ravens  who  fed  her  and  her  little 
ones  with  flour  from  the  Sugar  Mills  did  not 
always  select  the  best  quality.  Small  won- 
der that,  sitting  by  her  lonely  hearthstone,  — 
a  borrowed  stove  that  supplemented  the  un- 
finished fireplace,  —  surrounded  by  her  mis- 
matched furniture  and  clad  in  misfitting 
garments,  she  had  contracted  a  habit  of  snif- 
fling during  her  dreary  watches.  In  her 
weaker  moments  she  attributed  it  to  grief ; 
in  her  stronger  intervals  she  knew  that  it 
sprang  from  damp  and  draught. 


AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE  TULES.  19 

In  her  apathy  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs 
at  her  unprotected  door  even  at  that  hour 
neither  surprised  nor  alarmed  her.  She 
lifted  her  head  as  the  door  opened  and  the 
pale  face  of  Gideon  Deane  looked  into  the 
room.  She  moved  aside  the  cradle  she  was 
rocking,  and,  taking  a  saucepan  and  tea-cup 
from  a  chair  beside  her,  absently  dusted  it 
with  her  apron,  and  pointing  to  the  vacant 
seat  said,  "  Take  a  chair,"  as  quietly  as  if 
he  had  stepped  from  the  next  room  instead 
of  the  outer  darkness. 

"  I  '11  put  up  my  horse  first,"  said  Gideon 
gently.  t 

"  So  do,"  responded  the  widow  briefly. 

Gideon  led  his  horse  across  the  inclosure, 
stumbling  over  the  heaps  of  rubbish,  dried 
chips,  and  weather-beaten  shavings  with 
which  it  was  strewn,  until  he  reached  the 
unfinished  barn,  where  he  temporarily  be- 
stowed his  beast.  Then  taking  a  rusty  axe, 
by  the  faint  light  of  the  stars,  he  attacked 
one  of  the  fallen  trees  with  such  energy  that 


20  AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE   TULE8. 

at  the  end  of  ten  minutes  he  reappeared  at 
the  door  with  an  armful  of  cut  boughs  and 
chips,  which  he  quietly  deposited  behind  the 
stove.  Observing  that  he  was  still  standing 
as  if  looking  for  something,  the  widow  lifted 
her  eyes  and  said,  "  Ef  it 's  the  bucket,  I 
reckon  ye  '11  find  it  at  the  spring,  where  one 
of  them  foolish  Filgee  boys  left  it.  I  Ve 
been  that  tuckered  out  sens  sundown,"  I  ain't 
had  the  ambition  to  go  and  tote  it  back." 
Without  a  word  Gideon  repaired  to  the 
spring,  filled  the  missing  bucket,  replaced 
the  hoop  on  the  loosened  staves  of  another 
he  found  lying  useless  beside  it,  and  again 
returned  to  the  house.  The  widow  once 
more  pointed  to  the  chair,  and  Gideon  sat 
down.  "It's  quite  a  spell  sens  you  wos 
here,"  said  the  Widow  Hiler,  returning  her 
foot  to  the  cradle-rocker ;  "  not  sens  yer  was 
ordained.  Be'n  practicing  I  reckon,  at  the 
meetinV 

A  slight  color  came  into  his  cheek.     "  My 
place  is  not  there,  Sister  Hiler,"   he   said 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE   TULES.  21 

gently ;  "  it 's  for  those  with  the  gift  o' 
tongues.  I  go  forth  only  a  common  laborer 
in  the  vineyard."  He  stopped  and  hesi- 
tated ;  he  might  have  said  more,  but  the 
widow,  who  was  familiar  with  that  kind  of 
humility  as  the  ordinary  perfunctory  ex- 
pression of  her  class,  suggested  no  sympa- 
thetic interest  in  his  mission. 

"  Thar  's  a  deal  o'  talk  over  there,"  she 
said  dryly,  "  and  thar  's  folks  ez  thinks  thar  's 
a  deal  o'  money  spent  in  picnicking  the 
Gospel  that  might  be  given  to  them  ez  wish 
to  spread  it,  or  to  their  widows  and  children. 
But  that  don't  consarn  you,  Brother  Gideon. 
Sister  Parsons  hez  money  enough  to  settle 
her  darter  Meely  comfortably  on  her  own 
land  ;  and  I  Ve  heard  tell  that  you  and  Meely 
was  only  waitin'  till  you  was  ordained  to  be 
jined  together.  You  '11  hev  an  easier  time  of 
it,  Brother  Gideon,  than  poor  Marvin  Hiler 
had,"  she  continued,  suppressing  her  tears 
with  a  certain  astringency  that  took  the 
place  of  her  lost  pride ;  "  but  the  Lord  wills 
that  some  should  be  tried  and  some  not." 


22     AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES. 

"  But  I  am  not  going  to  marry  Meely 
Parsons,"  said  Gideon  quietly. 

The  widow  took  her  foot  from  the  rocker. 
"  Not  marry  Meely !  "  she  repeated  vaguely. 
But  relapsing  into  her  despondent  mood  she 
continued :  "  Then  I  reckon  it 's  true  what 
other  folks  sez  of  Brother  Silas  Braggley 
makin'  up  to  her  and  his  powerful  exhortin' 
influence  over  her  ma.  Folks  sez  ez  Sister 
Parsons  hez  just  resigned  her  soul  inter  his 
keepin'." 

"  Brother  Silas  hez  a  heavenly  gift,"  said 
the  young  man,  with  gentle  enthusiasm ; 
"  and  perhaps  it  may  be  so.  If  it  is,  it  is 
the  Lord's  will.  But  I  do  not  marry  Meely 
because  my  life  and  my  ways 'henceforth 
must  lie  far  beyond  her  sphere  of  strength. 
I  oughtn't  to  drag  a  young  inexperienced 
soul  with  me  to  battle  and  struggle  in  the 
thorny  paths  that  I  must  tread." 

"  I  reckon  you  know  your  own  mind,"  said 
Sister  Hiler  grimly.  "  But  thar  's  folks  ez 
might  allow  that  Meely  Parsons  ain't  any 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES.     23 

better  than  others,  that  she  should  n't  have 
her  share  o'  trials  and  keers  and  crosses. 
Riches  and  bringin'  up  don't  exempt  folks 
from  the  shadder.  I  married  Marvin  Hiler 
outer  a  house  ez  good  ez  Sister  Parsons',  and 
at  a  time  when  old  Cyrus  Parsons  had  n't  a 
roof  to  his  head  but  the  cover  of  the  emi- 
grant wagon  he  kern  across  the  plains  in.  I 
might  say  ez  Marvin  knowed  pretty  well  wot 
it  was  to  have  a  helpmeet  in  his  ministration, 
if  it  was  n't  vanity  of  sperit  to  say  it  now. 
But  the  flesh  is  weak,  Brother  Gideon." 
Her  influenza  here  resolved  itself  into  un- 
mistakable tears,  which  she  wiped  away  with 
the  first  article  that  was  accessible  in  the 
work-bag  before  her.  As  it  chanced  to  be  a 
black  silk  neckerchief  of  the  deceased  Hiler, 
the  result  was  funereal,  suggestive,  but  prac- 
tically ineffective.  f 

"  You  were  a  good  wife  to  Brother  Hiler," 
said  the  young  man  gently.  "Everybody 
knows  that." 

"  It 's  suthin'  to  think  of  since  he 's  gone," 


24  AN  APOSTLE  OF   THE  TULES. 

continued  the  widow,  bringing  her  work 
nearer  to  her  eyes  to  adjust  it  to  their  tear- 
dimmed  focus.  "  It 's  suthin'  to  lay  to  heart 
in  the  lonely  days  and  nights  when  thar  's  no 
man  round  to  fetch  water  and  wood  and  lend 
a  hand  to  doin'  chores  ;  it 's  suthin'  to  remem- 
ber, with  his  three  children  to  feed,  and  lit- 
tle Selby,  the  eldest,  that  vain  and  useless 
that  he  can't  even  tote  the  baby  round  while 
I  do  the  work  of  a  hired  man." 

"It's  a  hard  trial,  Sister  Hiler,"  said 
Gideon,  "  but  the  Lord  has  His  appointed 
time." 

Familiar  as  consolation  by  vague  quota- 
tion was  to  Sister  Hiler,  there  was  an  occult 
sympathy  in  the  tone  in  which-  this  was  of- 
fered that  lifted  her  for  an  instant  out  of  her 
narrower  self.  She  raised  her  eyes  to  his. 
The  personal  abstraction  of  the  devotee  had 
no  place  in  the  deep  dark  eyes  that  were 
lifted  from  the  cradle  to  hers  with  a  sad, 
discriminating,  and  almost  womanly  sympa- 
thy. Surprised  out  of  her  selfish  preoccu- 


AN  APOSTLE  OF   THE  TULES.  25 

pation,  she  was  reminded  of  her  apparent 
callousness  to  what  might  be  his  present 
disappointment.  Perhaps  it  seemed  strange 
to  her,  too,  that  those  tender  eyes  should  go 
a-begging. 

"  Yer  takin'  a  Christian  view  of  yer  own 
disappointment,  Brother  Gideon,"  she  said, 
with  less  astringency  of  manner ;  "  but  every 
heart  knoweth  its  own  sorrer.  I  '11  be  gettin' 
supper  now  that  the  baby  's  sleepin'  sound, 
and  ye  '11  sit  by  and  eat." 

"  If  you  let  me  help  you,  Sister  Hiler,"  said 
the  young  man  with  a  cheerfulness  that  be- 
lied any  overwhelming  heart  affection,  and 
awakened  in  the  widow  a  feminine  curiosity 
as  to  his  real  feelings  to  Meely.  But  her 
further  questioning  was  met  with  a  frank, 
amiable,  and  simple  brevity  that  was  as  puz- 
zling as  the  most  artful  periphrase  of  tact. 
Accustomed  as  she  was  to  the  loquacity  of 
grief  and  the  confiding  prolixity  of  disap- 
pointed lovers,  she  could  not  understand  her 
guest's  quiescent  attitude.  Her  curiosity, 


26  AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE    TULES. 

however,  soon  gave  way  to  the  habitual  con- 
templation of  her  own  sorrows,  and  she  could 
not  forego  the  opportune  presence  of  a  sym- 
pathizing auditor  to  whom  she  could  relieve 
her  feelings.  The  preparations  for  the 
evening  meal  were  therefore  accompanied  by 
a  dreary  monotone  of  lamentation.  She  be- 
wailed her  lost  youth,  her  brief  courtship, 
the  struggles  of  her  early  married  life,  her 
premature  widowhood,  her  penurious  and 
helpless  existence,  the  disruption  of  all  her 
present  ties,  the  hopelessness  of  the  future. 
She  rehearsed  the  unending  plaint  of  those 
long  evenings,  set  to  the  music  of  the  rest- 
less wind  around  her  bleak  dwelling,  with 
something  of  its  stridulous  reiteration.  The 
young  man  listened,  and  replied  with  softly 
assenting  eyes,  but  without  pausing  in  the 
material  aid  that  he  was  quietly  giving  her. 
He  had  removed  the  cradle  of  the  sleeping 
child  to  the  bedroom,  quieted  the  sudden 
wakefulness  of  "  Pinkey,"  rearranged  the 
straggling  furniture  of  the  sitting-room  with 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TITLES.  27 

much  order  and  tidiness,  repaired  the  hinges 
of  a  rebellious  shutter  and  the  lock  of  an 
unyielding  door,  and  yet  had  apparently  re- 
tained an  unabated  interest  in  her  spoken 
woes.  Surprised  once  more  into  recognizing 
this  devotion,  Sister  Hiler  abruptly  arrested 
her  monologue. 

"  Well,  if  you  ain't  the  handiest  man  I 
ever  seed  about  a  house  !  " 

"  Am  I  ?  "  said  Gideon,  with  suddenly 
sparkling  eyes.  "  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  Then  you  don't  know  how  glad  I  am." 
His  frank  face  so  unmistakably  showed  his 
simple  gratification  that  the  widow,  after 
gazing  at  him  for  a  moment,  was  suddenly 
seized  with  a  bewildering  fancy.  The  first 
effect  of  it  was  the  abrupt  withdrawal  of 
her  eyes,  then  a  sudden  effusion  of  blood  to 
her  forehead  that  finally  extended  to  her 
cheek-bones,  and  then  an  interval  of  forget- 
f ulness  where  she  remained  with  a  plate  held 
vaguely  in  her  hand.  When  she  succeeded 


28  AN  APOSTLE  OF   THE  TULES. 

at  last  in  putting  it  on  the  table  instead  of 
the  young*  man's  lap,  she  said  in  a  voice 
quite  unlike  her  own,  — 

"  Sho ! " 

"  I  mean  it,"  said  Gideon,  cheerfully. 
After  a  pause,  in  which  he  unostentatiously 
rearranged  the  table  which  the  widow  was 
abstractedly  disorganizing,  he  said  gently, 
"  After  tea,  when  you  're  not  so  much  flus- 
tered with  work  and  worry,  and  more  com- 
posed in  spirit,  we'll  have  a  little  talk, 
Sister  Hiler.  I  'm  in  no  hurry  to-night,  and 
if  you  don't  mind  I  '11  make  myself  com- 
fortable in  the  barn  with  my  blanket  until 
sun-up  to-morrow.  I  can  get  up  early  enough 
to  do  some  odd  chores  round  the  lot  before  I 

g°-" 

"  You  know  best,  Brother  Gideon,"  said 

the  widow,  faintly,  "  and  if  you  think  it 's 
the  Lord's  will,  and  no  speshal  trouble  to 
you,  so  do.  But  sakes  alive  !  it 's  time  I 
tidied  myself  a  little,"  she  continued,  lifting 
one  hand  to  her  hair,  while  with  the  other 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE   TULES.  29 

she  endeavored  to  fasten  a  buttonless  collar ; 
"  leavin'  alone  the  vanities  o'  dress,  it 's  ez 
much  as  one  can  do  to  keep  a  clean  rag  on 
with  the  children  elirnbin'  over  ye.  Sit  by, 
and  I  '11  be  back  in  a  minit."  She  retired 
to  the  back  room,  and  in  a  few  moments  re- 
turned with  smoothed  hair  and  a  palm-leaf 
broobe*  shawl  thrown  over  her  shoulders, 
which  not  only  concealed  the  ravages  made 
by  time'  and  maternity  on  the  gown  beneath, 
but  to  some  extent  gave  her  the  suggestion 
of  being  a  casual  visitor  in  her  own  house- 
hold. It  must  be  confessed  that  for  the  rest 
of  the  evening  Sister  Hiler  rather  lent  her- 
self to  this  idea,  possibly  from  the  fact  that 
it  temporarily  obliterated  the  children,  and 
quite  removed  her  from  any  responsibility  in 
the  unpicturesque  household.  This  effect 
was  only  marred  by  the  absence  of  any  im- 
pression upon  Gideon,  who  scarcely  appeared 
to  notice  the  change,  and  whose  soft  eyes 
seemed  rather  to  identify  the  miserable  wo- 
man under  her  forced  disguise.  He  prefaced 


30  AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE   TULES. 

the  meal  with  a  fervent  grace,  to  which  the 
widow  listened  with  something  of  the  con- 
scious attitude  she  had  adopted  at  church 
during  her  late  husband's  ministration,  and 
during  the  meal  she  ate  with  a  like  con- 
sciousness of  "  company  manners." 

Later  that  evening  Selby  Hiler  woke  up 
in  his  little  truckle  bed,  listening  to  the  ris- 
ing midnight  wind,  which  in  his  childish 
fancy  he  confounded  with  the  sound  of  voices 
that  came  through  the  open  door  of  the  liv- 
ing-room. He  recognized  the  deep  voice  of 
the  young  minister,  Gideon,  and  the  occa- 
sional tearful  responses  of  his  mother,  and 
he  was  fancying  himself  again  at  church 
when  he  heard  a  step,  and  the  yonng  preacher 
seemed  to  enter  the  room,  and  going  to  the 
bed  leaned  over  it  and  kissed  him  on  the 
forehead,  and  then  bent  over  his  little  brother 
and  sister  and  kissed  them  too.  Then  he 
slowly  reentered  the  living-room.  Lifting 
himself  softly  on  his  elbow,  Selby  saw  him 
go  up  towards  his  mother,  who  was  crying, 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE   TULES.  31 

with  her  head  on  the  table,  and  kiss  her 
also  on  the  forehead.  Then  he  said  "  Good- 
night," and  the  front  door  closed,  and  Selby 
heard  his  footsteps  crossing  the  lot  towards 
the  barn.  His  mother  was  still  sitting  with 
her  face  buried  in  her  hands  when  he  fell 
asleep. 

She  sat  by  the  dying  embers  of  the  fire 
until  the  house  was  still  again ;  then  she  rose 
and  wiped  her  eyes.  "  Et  's  a  good  thing," 
she  said,  going  to  the  bedroom  door,  and 
looking  in  upon  her  sleeping  children ;  "  et  's 
a  mercy  and  a  blessing  for  them  and  —  for 

—  me.    But  —  but  —  he  might  —  hev  —  said 

—  he loved  me  !  " 

III. 

Although  Gideon  Deane  contrived  to  find 
a  nest  for  his  blanket  in  the  mouldy  straw  of 
the  unfinished  barn  loft,  he  could  not  sleep. 
He  restlessly  watched  the  stars  through  the 
cracks  of  the  boarded  roof,  and  listened  to 
the  wind  that  made  the  half -open  structure 


32  AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES. ' 

as  vocal  as  a  sea-shell,  until  past  midnight. 
Once  or  twice  he  had  fancied  he  heard  the 
tramp  of  horse -hoofs  on  the  far-off  trail,  and 
now  it  seemed  to  approach  nearer,  mingled 
with  the  sound  of  voices.  Gideon  raised  his 
head  and  looked  through  the  doorway  of  the 
loft.  He  was  not  mistaken :  two  men  had 
halted  in  the  road  before  the  house,  and 
were  examining  it  as  if  uncertain  if  it  were 
the  dwelling  they  were  seeking,  and  were 
hesitating  if  they  should  rouse  the  inmates. 
Thinking  he  might  spare  the  widow  this  dis- 
turbance to  her  slumbers,  and  possibly  some 
alarm,  he  rose  quickly,  and  descending  to  the 
inclosure  walked  towards  the  house.  As  he 
approached  the  men  advanced  to  meet  him, 
and  by  accident  or  design  ranged  themselves 
on  either  side.  A  glance  showed  him  they 
were  strangers  to  the  locality. 

"  We  're  lookin'  f er  the  preacher  that  lives 
here,"  said  one,  who  seemed  to  be  the  elder. 
"  A  man  by  the  name  o'  Hiler,  I  reckon  !  " 

"  Brother  Hiler  has  been  dead  two  years," 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES.  33 

responded  Gideon.  "His  widow  and  chil- 
dren live  here." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other.  The 
younger  one  laughed ;  the  elder  mumbled 
something  about  its  being  "  three  years  ago," 
and  then  turning  suddenly  on  Gideon,  said : 

"  P'r'aps  you  're  a  preacher  ?  " 

"lam." 

"  Can  you  come  to  a  dying  man  ?  " 

"Twill." 

The  two  men  again  looked  at  each  other. 
"  But,"  continued  Gideon,  softly,  "  you  '11 
please  keep  quiet  so  as  not  to  disturb  the 
widow  and  her  children,  while  I  get  my 
horse."  He  turned  away ;  the  younger  man 
made  a  movement  as  if  to  stop  him,  but  the 
elder  quickly  restrained  his  hand.  "  He  is  n't 
goin'  to  run  away,"  he  whispered.  "  Look," 
he  added,  as  Gideon  a  moment  later  reap- 
peared mounted  and  equipped. 

"  Do  you  think  we  '11  be  in  time  ?  "  asked 
the  young  preacher  as  they  rode  quickly 
away  in  the  direction  of  the  tules. 

3 


34  AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES. 

The  younger  repressed  a  laugh ;  the  other 
answered  grimly,  "  I  reckon." 

"  And  is  he  conscious  of  his  danger  ?  " 

"  I  reckon." 

Gideon  did  not  speak  again.  But  as  the 
onus  of  that  silence  seemed  to  rest  upon  the 
other  two,  the  last  speaker,  after  a  few  mo- 
ments' silent  and  rapid  riding,  continued 
abruptly,  "  You  don't  seem  curious  ?  " 

"  Of  what  ?  "  said  Gideon,  lifting  his  soft 
eyes  to  the  speaker.  "You  tell  me  of  a 
brother  at  the  point  of  death,  who  seeks  the 
Lord  through  an  humble  vessel  like  myself. 
He  will  tell  me  the  rest." 

A  silence  still  more  constrained  on  the 
part  of  the  two  strangers  followed,  which 
they  endeavored  to  escape  from  by  furious 
riding;  so  that  in  half  an  hour  the  party 
had  reached  a  point  where  the  tules  began 
to  sap  the  arid  plain,  while  beyond  them 
broadened  the  lagoons  of  the  distant  river. 
In  the  foreground,  near  a  clump  of  dwarfed 
willows,  a  camp-fire  was  burning,  around 


AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE  TITLES.  35 

which  fifteen  or  twenty  armed  men  were  col- 
lected, their  horses  picketed  in  an  outer  cir- 
cle guarded  by  two  mounted  sentries.  A 
blasted  cotton-wood  with  a  single  black  arm 
extended  over  the  tules  stood  ominously 
against  the  dark  sky. 

The  circle  opened  to  receive  them  and 
closed  again.  The  elder  man  dismounted, 
and  leading  Gideon  to  the  blasted  cotton- 
wood,  pointed  to  a  pinioned  man  seated  at 
its  foot  with  an  armed  guard  over  him.  He 
looked  up  at  Gideon  with  an  amused  smile. 

"  You  said  it  was  a  dying  man,"  said  Gid- 
eon, recoiling. 

"  He  will  be  a  dead  man  in  half  an  hour," 
returned  the  stranger. 

"And  you?" 

"We  are  the  Vigilantes  from  Alamo. 
This  man,"  pointing  to  the  prisoner,  "is  a 
gambler  who  killed  a  man  yesterday.  We 
hunted  him  here,  tried  him  an  hour  ago,  and 
found  him  guilty.  The  last  man  we  hung 
here,  three  years  ago,  asked  for  a  parson. 


36  AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE   TULES. 

We  brought  him  the  man  who  used  to  live 
where  we  found  you.  So  wre  thought  we  'd 
give  this  man  the  same  show,  and  brought 
you." 

"  And  if  I  refuse  ?  "  said  Gideon. 

The  leader  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  That 's  his  lookout,  not  ours.  We  Ve 
given  him  the  chance.  Drive  ahead,  boys," 
he  added,  turning  to  the  others ;  "  the  par- 
son allows  he  won't  take  a  hand." 

"  One  moment,"  said  Gideon,  in  despera- 
tion, "  one  moment,  for  the  sake  of  that  God 
you  have  brought  me  here  to  invoke  in  be- 
half of  this  wretched  man.  One  moment, 
for  the  sake  of  Him  in  whose  presence  you 
must  stand  one  day  as  he  does'  how."  With 
passionate  earnestness  he  pointed  out  the 
vindictive  impulse  they  were  mistaking  for 
Divine  justice ;  with  pathetic  fervency  he  fell 
upon  his  knees  and  implored  their  mercy  for 
the  culprit.  But  in  vain.  As  at  the  camp- 
meeting  of  the  day  before,  he  was  chilled  to 
find  his  words  seemed  to  fall  on  unheeding 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES.  37 

and  unsympathetic  ears.  He  looked  around 
on  their  abstracted  faces  ;  in  their  gloomy 
savage  enthusiasm  for  expiatory  sacrifice,  he 
was  horrified  to  find  the  same  unreasoning 
exaltation  that  had  checked  his  exhortations 
then.  Only  one  face  looked  upon  his,  half 
mischievously,  half  compassionately.  It  was 
the  prisoner's. 

"  Yer  wastin'  time  on  us,"  said  the  leader, 
dryly  ;  "  wastin'  his  time.  Had  n't  you  bet- 
ter talk  to  him  ?" 

Gideon  rose  to  his  feet,  pale  and  cold. 
"  He  may  have  something  to  confess.  May 
I  speak  with  him  alone  ?  "  he  said  gently. 

The  leader  motioned  to  the  sentry  to  fall 
back.  Gideon  placed  himself  before  the 
prisoner  so  that  in  the  faint  light  of  the 
camp-fire  the  man's  figure  was  partly  hid- 
den by  his  own.  "  You  meant  well  with 
your  little  bluff,  pardner,"  said  the  prisoner, 
not  unkindly,  "  but  they  Ve  got  the  cards  to 
win." 

"  Kneel  down  with  your  back  to  me,"  said 


38  AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES. 

Gideon,  in  a  low  voice.  The  prisoner  fell 
on  his  knees.  At  the  same  time  he  felt 
Gideon's  hand  and  the  gliding  of  steel  be- 
hind his  back,  and  the  severed  cords  hung 
loosely  on  his  arms  and  legs. 

"  When  I  lift  my  voice  to  God,  brother," 
said  Gideon,  softly,  "  drop  on  your  face  and 
crawl  as  far  as  you  can  in  a  straight  line  in 
my  shadow,  then  break  for  the  tules.  I  will 
stand  between  you  and  their  first  fire." 

"  Are  you  mad  ?  "  said  the  prisoner.  "  Do 
you  think  they  won't  fire  lest  they  should 
hurt  you  ?  Man  !  they  '11  kill  you,  the  first 
thing." 

"  So  be  it  —  if  your  chance  is  better." 

Still  on  his  knees,  the  man  grasped  Gid- 
eon's two  hands  in  his  own  and  devoured 
him  with  his  eyes. 

"You  mean  it?" 

"I  do." 

"  Then,"  said  the  prisoner,  quietly,  "  I 
reckon  I  '11  stop  and  hear  what  you  've  got 
to  say  about  God  until  they  're  ready." 


AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE  TITLES.  39 

"You  refuse  to  fly?" 

"  I  reckon  I  was  never  better  fitted  to  die 
than  now,"  said  the  prisoner,  still  grasping 
his  hand.  After  a  pause  he  added  in  a 
lower  tone,  "  I  can't  pray  —  but  —  I  think," 
he  hesitated ;  "  I  think  I  could  manage  to 
ring  in  in  a  hymn." 

"  Will  you  try,  brother  ?  " 

"Yes." 

With  their  hands  tightly  clasped  together, 
Gideon  lifted  his  gentle  voice.  The  air  was 
a  common  one,  familiar  in  the  local  religious 
gatherings,  and  after  the  first  verse  one  or 
two  of  the  sullen  lookers-on  joined  not  un- 
kindly in  the  refrain.  But,  as  he  went  on, 
the  air  and  words  seemed  to  offer  a  vague 
expression  to  the  dull  lowering  animal  emo- 
tion of  the  savage  concourse,  and  at  the  end 
of  the  second  verse  the  refrain,  augmented 
in  volume  and  swelled  by  every  voice  in  the 
camp,  swept  out  over  the  hollow  plain. 

It  was  met  in  the  distance  by  a  far-off  cry. 
With  an  oath  taking  the  place  of  his  suppli- 


40      AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES. 

cation,  the  leader  sprang  to  his  feet.  But 
too  late  !  The  cry  was  repeated  as  a  nearer 
slogan  of  defiance  —  the  plain  shook  —  there 
was  the  tempestuous  onset  of  furious  hoofs 
—  a  dozen  shots  —  the  scattering  of  the  em- 
bers of  the  camp-fire  into  a  thousand  vanish- 
ing sparks  even  as  the  lurid  gathering  of 
savage  humanity  was  dispersed  and  dissi- 
pated over  the  plain,  and  Gideon  and  the 
prisoner  stood  alone.  But  as  the  sheriff  of 
Contra  Costa  with  his  rescuing  posse  swept 
by,  the  man  they  had  come  to  save  fell  for- 
ward in  Gideon's  arms  with  a  bullet  in  his 
breast  —  the  Parthian  shot  of  the  flying 
Vigilante  leader. 

The  eager  crowd  that  surged  -around  him 
with  outstretched  helping  hands  would  have 
hustled  Gideon  aside.  But  the  wounded 
man  roused  himself,  and  throwing  an  arm 
around  the  young  preacher's  neck,  warned 
them  back  with  the  other.  "  Stand  back !  " 
he  gasped.  "  He  risked  his  life  for  mine ! 
Look  at  him,  boys  I  Wanted  ter  stand  up 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES.  41 

'twixt  them  hounds  and  me  and  draw  their 
fire  on  himself  !  Ain't  he  just  hell  ?  "  he 
stopped  ;  an  apologetic  smile  crossed  his  lips. 
"  I  clean  forgot,  pardner  ;  but  it 's  all  right. 
I  said  I  was  ready  to  go  ;  and  I  am."  His 
arm  slipped  from  Gideon's  neck ;  he  slid  to 
the  ground  ;  he  had  fainted. 

A  dark,  military-looking  man  pushed  his 
way  through  the  crowd  —  the  surgeon,  one 
of  the  posse,  accompanied  by  a  younger  man 
fastidiously  dressed.  The  former  bent  over 
the  unconscious  prisoner,  and  tore  open  his 
shirt ;  the  latter  followed  his  movements 
with  a  flush  of  anxious  inquiry  in  his  hand- 
some, careless  face.  After  a  moment's  pause 
the  surgeon,  without  looking  up,  answered 
the  young  man's  mute  questioning.  "  Better 
send  the  sheriff  here  at  once,  Jack." 

.  "  He  is  here,"  responded  the  official,  join- 
ing the  group. 

The  surgeon  looked  up  at  him.  "  I  am 
afraid  they  've  put  the  case  out  of  your  juris- 
diction, Sheriff,"  he  said  grimly.  "  It 's  only 


42  AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE   TULE8. 

a  matter  of  a  day  or  two  at  best  —  perhaps 
only  a  few  hours.  But  he  won't  live  to  be 
taken  back  to  jail." 

"  "Will  he  live  to  go  as  far  as  Martinez  ?  " 
asked  the  young  man  addressed  as  Jack. 

"  With  care,  perhaps." 

"  Will  you  be  responsible  for  him,  Jack 
Hamlin  ?  "  said  the  sheriff,  suddenly. 

"  I  will." 

"  Then  take  him.     Stay,  he  's  coming  to." 

The  wounded  man  slowly  opened  his'  eyes. 
They  fell  upon  Jack  Hamlin  with  a  pleased 
look  of  recognition,  but  almost  instantly  and 
anxiously  glanced  around  as  if  seeking  an- 
other. Leaning  over  him,  Jack  said  gayly, 
u  They  Ve  passed  you  over  to  me,  old  man  ; 
are  you  willing  ?  " 

The  wounded  man's  eyes  assented,  but 
still  moved  restlessly  from  side  to  side. 

"  Is  there  any  one  you  want  to  go  with 
you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  eyes. 

"  The  doctor,  of  course?  " 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES.  43 

The  eyes  did  not  answer.  Gideon  dropped 
on  his  knees  beside  him.  A  ray  of  light 
flashed  in  the  helpless  man's  eyes  and  trans- 
figured his  whole  face. 

"  You  want  him  ?  "  said  Jack  incredu- 
lously. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  eyes. 

"  What  —  the  preacher  ?  " 

The  lips  struggled  to  speak.  Everybody 
bent  down  to  hear  his  reply. 

"  You  bet,"  he  said  faintly. 

IV. 

It  was  early  morning  when  the  wagon 
containing  the  wounded  man,  Gideon,  Jack 
Hamlin,  and  the  surgeon  crept  slowly  through 
the  streets  of  Martinez  and  stopped  before 
the  door  of  the  "Palmetto  Shades."  The 
upper  floor  of  this  saloon  and  hostelry  was 
occupied  by  Mr.  Hamlin  as  his  private  lodg- 
ings, and  was  fitted  up  with  the  usual  lux- 
ury and  more  than  the  usual  fastidiousness 
of  his  extravagant  class.  As  the  dusty  and 


44     AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES. 

travel-worn  party  trod  the  soft  carpets  and 
brushed  aside  their  silken  hangings  in  their 
slow  progress  with  their  helpless  burden  to 
the  lace-canopied  and  snowy  couch  of  the 
young  gambler,  it  seemed  almost  a  profana- 
tion of  some  feminine  seclusion.  Gideon, 
to  whom  such  luxury  was  unknown,  was  pro- 
foundly troubled.  The  voluptuous  ease  and 
sensuousness,  the  refinements  of  a  life  of 
irresponsible  indulgence,  affected  him  with  a 
physical  terror  to  which  in  his  late  moment 
of  real  peril  he  had  been  a  stranger;  the 
gilding  and  mirrors  blinded  his  eyes ;  even 
the  faint  perfume  seemed  to  him  an  unhal- 
lowed incense,  and  turned  him  sick  and 
giddy.  Accustomed  as  he  had  been  to  dis- 
ease and  misery  in  its  humblest  places  and 
meanest  surroundings,  the  wounded  despe- 
rado lying  in  laces  and  fine  linen  seemed  to 
him  monstrous  and  unnatural.  It  required 
all  his  self-abnegation,  all  his  sense  of  duty, 
all  his  deep  pity,  and  all  the  instinctive  tact 
which  was  born  of  his  gentle  thoughtfulness 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE   TULES.  45 

for  others,  to  repress  a  shrinking.  But  when 
the  miserable  cause  of  all  again  opened  his 
eyes  and  sought  Gideon's  hand,  he  forgot  it 
all.  Happily,  Hamlin,  who  had  been  watch- 
ing him  with  wondering  but  critical  eyes, 
mistook  his  concern.  "  Don't  you  worry 
about  that  gin  -  mill  and  hash  -  gymnasium 
downstairs,"  he  said.  "  I  've  given  the  pro- 
prietor a  thousand  dollars  to  shut  up  shop  as 
long  as  this  thing  lasts."  That  this  was  done 
from  some  delicate  sense  of  respect  to  the 
preacher's  domiciliary  presence,  and  not  en- 
tirely to  secure  complete  quiet  and  seclusion 
for  the  invalid,  was  evident  from  the  fact  that 
Mr.  Hamlin's  drawing  and  dining  rooms,  and 
even  the  hall,  were  filled  with  eager  friends 
and  inquirers.  It  was  discomposing  to  Gid- 
eon to  find  himself  almost  an  equal  subject 
of  interest  and  curiosity  to  the  visitors.  The 
story  of  his  simple  devotion  had  lost  noth- 
ing by  report ;  hats  were  doffed  in  his  pres- 
ence that  might  have  grown  to  their  wearers' 
heads ;  the  boldest  eyes  dropped  as  he  passed 


46  AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES. 

by ;  he  had  only  to  put  his  pale  face  out  of 
the  bedroom  door  and  the  loudest  discussion, 
heated  by  drink  or  affection,  fell  to  a  whis- 
per. The  surgeon,  who  had  recognized  the 
one  dominant  wish  of  the  hopelessly  sinking 
man,  gravely  retired,  leaving  Gideon  a  few 
simple  instructions  and  directions  for  their 
use.  "  He  '11  last  as  long  as  he  has  need  of 
you,"  he  said  respectfully.  "  My  art  is  only 
second  here.  God  help  you  both!  When 
he  wakes,  make  the  most  of  your  time." 

In  a  few  moments  he  did  waken,  and  as 
before  turned  his  fading  look  almost  instinc- 
tively on  the  faithful,  gentle  eyes  that  were 
watching  him.  How  Gideon  made  the  most 
of  his  time  did  not  transpire,  but  -at  the  end 
of  an  hour,  when  the  dying  man  had  again 
lapsed  into  unconsciousness,  he  softly  opened 
the  door  of  the  sitting-room. 

Hamlin  started  hastily  to  his  feet.  He 
had  cleared  the  room  of  his  visitors,  and  was 
alone.  He  turned  a  moment  towards  the 
window  before  he  faced  Gideon  with  inquir- 
ing but  curiously-shining  eyes. 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES.  47 

"  Well?  "  he  said,  hesitatingly. 

"Do  you  know  Kate  Somers?"  asked 
Gideon. 

Hamlin  opened  his  brown  eyes.     "  Yes.'* 

"  Can  you  send  for  her  ?  " 

"  What,  here  ?  " 

"Yes,  here." 

"What  for?" 

"To  marry  him,"  said  Gideon,  gently. 
"  There  's  no  time  to  lose." 

"To  marry  him?" 

"  He  wishes  it." 

"  But  say  —  oh,  come,  now,"  said  Hamlin 
confidentially,  leaning  back  with  his  hands 
on  the  top  of  a  chair.  "  Ain't  this  playing 
it  a  little  —  just  a  little  —  too  low  down? 
Of  course  you  mean  well,  and  all  that ;  but 
come,  now,  say — couldn't  you  just  let  up 
on  him  there  ?  Why,  she  "  —  Hamlin  softly 
closed  the  door  —  "  she  's  got  no  character." 

"The  more  reason  he  should  give  her 
one." 

A  cynical   knowledge  of  matrimony  im- 


48  AN  APOSTLE   OF  THE  TULES. 

parted  to  him  by  the  wives  of  others  evi- 
dently colored  Mr.  Hamlin's  views.  "  Well, 
perhaps  it 's  all  the  same  if  he  's  going  to 
die.  But  is  n't  it  rather  rough  on  her  ?  I 
don't  know,"  he  added,  reflectively ;  "  she 
was  sniveling  round  here  a  little  while  ago, 
until  I  sent  her  away." 

"  You  sent  her  away !  "  echoed  Gideon. 

"I  did." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you  were  here." 

Nevertheless  Mr.  Hamlin.  departed,  and  in 
half  an  hour  reappeared  with  two  brilliantly 
dressed  women.  One,  hysterical,  tearful, 
frightened,  and  pallid,  was  the  destined 
bride;  the  other,  highly  colored,  excited, 
and  pleasedly  observant,  was  her  friend. 
Two  men  hastily  summoned  from  the  ante- 
room  as  witnesses  completed  the  group  that 
moved  into  the  bedroom  and  gathered  round 
the  bed. 

The  ceremony  was  simple  and  brief.  It 
was  well,  for  of  all  who  took  part  in  it  none 


AN  APOSTLE  OF   THE  TULES.  49 

was  more  shaken  by  emotion  than  the  offi- 
ciating priest.  The  brilliant  dresses  of  the 
women,  the  contrast  of  their  painted  faces 
with  the  waxen  pallor  of  the  dying  man  ; 
the  terrible  incongruity  of  their  voices,  in- 
flections, expressions,  and  familiarity;  the 
mingled  perfume  of  cosmetics  and  the  faint 
odor  of  wine ;  the  eyes  of  the  younger  wo- 
man following  his  movements  with  strange 
absorption,  so  affected  him  that  he  was  glad 
when  he  could  fall  on  his  knees  at  last  and 
bury  his  face  in  the  pillow  of  the  sufferer. 
The  hand  that  had  been  placed  in  the  bride's 
cold  fingers  slipped  from  them  and  mechan- 
ically sought  Gideon's  again.  The  signifi- 
cance of  the  unconscious  act  brought  the  first 
spontaneous  tears  into  the  woman's  eyes. 
It  was  his  last  act,  for  when  Gideon's  voice 
was  again  lifted  in  prayer,  the  spirit  for 
whom  it  was  offered  had  risen  with  it,  as  it 
were,  still  lovingly  hand  in  hand,  from  the 
earth  forever. 

The  funeral  was  arranged  for  two  days 

4 


50  AN  APOSTLE  OF   THE  TULES. 

later,  and  Gideon  found  that  his  services 
had  been  so  seriously  yet  so  humbly  counted 
upon  by  the  friends  of  the  dead  man  that  he 
could  scarce  find  it  in  his  heart  to  tell  them 
that  it  was  the  function  of  the  local  preacher 
—  an  older  and  more  experienced  man  than 
himself.  "If  it  is,"  said  Jack  Hamlin, 
coolly,  "  I  'm  afraid  he  won't  get  a  yaller  dog 
to  come  to  his  church ;  but  if  you  say  you  '11 
preach  at  the  grave,  there  ain't  a  man, 
woman,  or  child  that  will  be  kept  away. 
Don't  you  go  back  on  your  luck,  now ;  it 's 
something  awful  and  nigger-like.  You've 
got  this  crowd  where  the  hair  is  short;  ex- 
cuse me,  but  it 's  so.  Talk  of  revivals  !  You 
could  give  that  one-horse  show"  in  Tasajara 
a  hundred  points,  and  skunk  them  easily." 
Indeed  had  Gideon  been  accessible  to  vanity, 
the  spontaneous  homage  he  met  with  every- 
where would  have  touched  him  more  sympa- 
thetically and  kindly  than  it  did ;  but  in  the 
utter  unconsciousness  of  his  own  power  and 
the  quality  they  worshiped  in  him,  he  felt 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES.  51 

alarmed  and  impatient  of  what  he  believed 
to  be  their  weak  sympathy  with  his  own  hu- 
man weakness.  In  the  depth  of  his  unselfish 
heart,  lit,  it  must  be  confessed,  only  by  the 
scant,  inefficient  lamp  of  his  youthful  experi- 
ence, he  really  believed  he  had  failed  in  his 
apostolic  mission  because  he  had  been  una- 
ble to  touch  the  hearts  of  the  Vigilantes  by 
oral  appeal  and  argument.  Feeling  thus,  the 
reverence  of  these  irreligious  people  that 
surrounded  him,  the  facile  yielding  of  their 
habits  and  prejudices  to  his  half -uttered 
wish,  appeared  to  him  only  a  temptation  of 
the  flesh.  No  one  had  sought  him  after  the 
manner  of  the  camp-meeting ;  he  had  con- 
verted the  wounded  man  through  a  common 
weakness  of  their  humanity.  More  than 
that,  he  was  conscious  of  a  growing  fasci- 
nation for  the  truthfulness  and  sincerity  of 
that  class;  particularly  of  Mr.  Jack  Ham- 
lin,  whose  conversion  he  felt  he  could  never 
attempt,  yet  whose  strange  friendship  alter- 
nately thrilled  and  frightened  him. 


52  AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES. 

It  was  the  evening  before  the  funeral. 
The  coffin,  half  smothered  in  wreaths  and 
flowers,  stood  upon  trestles  in  the  anteroom ; 
a  large  silver  plate  bearing  an  inscription  on 
which  for  the  second  time  Gideon  read  the 
name  of  the  man  he  had  converted.  It  was 
a  name  associated  on  the  frontier  so  often 
with  reckless  hardihood,  dissipation,  and 
blood,  that  even  now  Gideon  trembled  at  his 
presumption,  and  was  chilled  by  a  momentary 
doubt  of  the  efficiency  of  his  labor.  Draw- 
ing unconsciously  nearer  to  the  mute  sub- 
ject of  his  thoughts,  he  threw  his  arms  across 
the  coffin  and  buried  his  face  between  them. 

A  stream  of  soft  music,  the  echo  of  some 
forgotten  song,  seemed  to  Gideon  to  sud- 
denly fill  and  possess  the  darkened  room, 
and  then  to  slowly  die  away,  like  the  opening 
and  shutting  of  a  door  upon  a  flood  of  golden 
radiance.  He  listened  with  hushed  breath 
and  a  beating  heart.  He  had  never  heard 
anything  like  it  before.  Again  the  strain 
arose,  the  chords  swelled  round  him,  until 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULE8.  53 

from  their  midst  a  tenor  voice  broke  high 
and  steadfast,  like  a  star  in  troubled  skies. 
Gideon  scarcely  breathed.  It  was  a  hymn 
—  but  such  a  hymn.  He  had  never  con- 
ceived there  could  be  such  beautiful  words, 
joined  to  such  exquisite  melody,  and  sung 
with  a  grace  so  tender  and  true.  What 
were  all  other  hymns  to  this  ineffable  yearn- 
ing for  light,  for  love,  and  for  infinite  rest  ? 
Thrilled  and  exalted,  Gideon  felt  his  doubts 
pierced  and  scattered  by  that  illuminating 
cry.  Suddenly  he  rose,  and  with  a  troubled 
thought  pushed  open  the  door  to  the  sitting- 
room.  It  was  Mr.  Jack  Hamlin  sitting  be- 
fore a  parlor  organ.  The  music  ceased. 

" It  was  you"  stammered  Gideon. 

Jack  nodded,  struck  a  few  chords  by  way 
of  finish,  and  then  wheeled  round  on  the 
music-stool  towards  Gideon.  His  face  was 
slightly  flushed.  "  Yes.  I  used  to  be  the 
organist  and  tenor  in  our  church  in  the 
States.  I  used  to  snatch  the  sinners  bald- 
.  headed  with  that.  Do  you  know  I  reckon 


64  AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES. 

I  '11  sing  that  to-morrow,  if  you  like,  and  may- 
be afterwards  we  '11  —  but "  —  he  stopped  — 
"  we  '11  talk  of  that  after  the  funeral.  It 's 
business."  Seeing  Gideon  still  glancing  with 
a  troubled  air  from  the  organ  to  himself, 
he  said  :  "  Would  you  like  to  try  that  hymn 
with  me  ?  Come  on !  " 

He  again  struck  the  chords.  As  the  whole 
room  seemed  to  throb  with  the  music,  Gideon 
felt  himself  again  carried  away.  Glancing 
over  Jack's  shoulders,  he  could  read  the 
words  but  not  the  notes  ;  yet,  having  a  quick 
ear  for  rhythm,  he  presently  joined  in  with 
a  deep  but  uncultivated  baritone.  Together 
they  forgot  everything  else,  and  at  the  end  of 
an  hour  were  only  recalled  by  fhe  presence 
of  a  silently  admiring  concourse  of  votive- 
offering  friends  who  had  gathered  round 
them. 

The  funeral  took  place  the  next  day  at  the 
grave  dug  in  the  public  cemetery  —  a  green 
area  fenced  in  by  the  palisading  tules.  The 
words  of  Gideon  were  brief  but  humble ;  the 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES.  55 

strongest  partisan  of  the  dead  man  could 
find  no  fault  in  a  confession  of  human  frailty 
in  which  the  speaker  humbly  confessed  his 
share ;  and  when  the  hymn  was  started  by 
Hamlin  and  taken  up  by  Gideon,  the  vast 
multitude,  drawn  by  interest  and  curiosity, 
joined  as  in  a  solemn  Amen. 

Later,  when  those  two  strangely-assorted 
friends  had  returned  to  Mr.  Hamlin 's  rooms 
previous  to  Gideon's  departure,  the  former, 
in  a  manner  more  serious  than  his  habitual 
cynical  good-humor,  began :  "  I  said  I  had 
to  talk  business  with  you.  The  boys  about 
here  want  to  build  a  church  for  you,  and  are 
ready  to  plank  the  money  down  if  you  '11  say 
it 's  a  go.  You  understand  they  are  n't  ask- 
ing you  to  run  in  opposition  to  that  Gospel 
sharp  —  excuse  me  —  that 's  here  now,  nor 
do  they  want  you  to  run  a  side  show  in 
connection  with  it.  They  want  you  to  be 
independent.  They  don't  pin  you  down  to 
any  kind  of  religion,  you  know;  whatever 
you  care  to  give  them  —  Methodist,  Roman 


56  AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULE8. 

Catholic,  Presbyterian  —  is  mighty  good 
enough  for  them,  if  you  '11  expound  it.  You 
might  give  a  little  of  each,  or  one  on  one  day 
and  one  another  —  they  '11  never  know  the 
difference  if  you  only  mix  the  drinks  your- 
self. They  '11  give  you  a  house  and  guar- 
antee you  fifteen  hundred  dollars  the  first 
year." 

He  stopped  and  walked  towards  the  win- 
dow. The  sunlight  that  fell  upon  his  hand- 
some face  seemed  to  call  back  the  careless 
smile  to  his  lips  and  the  reckless  fire  to  his 
brown  eyes.  "  I  don't  suppose  there 's  a  man 
among  them  that  would  n't  tell  you  all  this 
in  a  great  deal  better  way  than  I  do.  But 
the  darned  fools  —  excuse  me  — -*  Would  have 
me  break  it  to  you.  Why,  I  don't  know. 
I  need  n't  tell  you  I  like  you  —  not  only  for 
what  you  did  for  George  —  but  I  like  you 
for  your  style  —  for  yourself.  And  I  want 
you  to  accept.  You  could  keep  these  rooms 
till  they  got  a  house  ready  for  you.  Togeth- 
er —  you  and  me  —  we  'd  make  that  organ 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE   TULES.  57 

howl.  But  because  I  like  it  —  because  it 's 
everything  to  us  —  and  nothing  to  you,  it 
don't  seem  square  for  me  to  ask  it.  Does 
it?" 

Gideon  replied  by  taking  Hamlin's  hand. 
His  face  was  perfectly  pale,  but  his  look 
collected.  He  had  not  expected  this  offer, 
and  yet  when  it  was  made  he  felt  as  if  he 
had  known  it  before  —  as  if  he  had  been 
warned  of  it  —  as  if  it  was  the  great  temp- 
tation of  his  life.  Watching  him  with  an 
earnestness  only  slightly  overlaid  by  his 
usual  manner,  Hamlin  went  on. 

"  I  know  it  would  be  lonely  here,  and  a 
man  like  you  ought  to  have  a  wife  for  "  — 
he  slightly  lifted  his  eyebrows  —  "  for  exam- 
ple's sake.  I  heard  there  was  a  young  lady 
in  the  case  over  there  in  Tasajara  —  but  the 
old  people  did  n't  see  it  on  account  of  your 
position.  They  'd  jump  at  it  now.  .Eh  ? 
No  ?  Well,"  continued  Jack,  with  a  decent 
attempt  to  conceal  his  cynical  relief,  "per- 
haps those  boys  have  been  so  eager  to  find 


58  AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES. 

out  all  they  could  do  for  you  that  they  Ve 
been  sold.  Perhaps  we're  making  equal 
fools  of  ourselves  now  in  asking  you  to  stay. 
But  don't  say  no  just  yet  —  take  a  day  or  a 
week  to  think  of  it." 

Gideon  still  pale  but  calm,  cast  his  eyes 
around  the  elegant  room,  at  the  magic  organ, 
then  upon  the  slight  handsome  figure  before 
him.  "  I  will  think  of  it,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice,  as  he  pressed  Jack's  hand.  "  And  if 
I  accept  you  will  find  me  here  to-morrow 
afternoon  at  this  time  ;  if  I  do  not  you  will 
know  that  I  keep  with  me  wherever  I  go  the 
kindness,  the  brotherly  love,  and  the  grace 
of  God  that  prompts  your  offer,  even  though 
He  withholds  from  me  His  blessed  light, 
which  alone  can  make  me  know  His  wish." 
He  stopped  and  hesitated.  "If  you  love 
me,  Jack,  don't  ask  me  to  stay,  but  pray  for 
that  light  which  alone  can  guide  my  feet 
back  to  you,  or  take  me  hence  for  ever." 
He  once  more  tightly  pressed  the  hand  of 
the  embarrassed  man  before  him  and  was 
gone. 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE   TULES.  59 

Passers-by  on  the  Martinez  road  that  night 
remembered  a  mute  and  ghostly  rider  who, 
heedless  of  hail  or  greeting,  moved  by  them 
as  in  a  trance  or  vision.  But  the  Widow 
Hiler  the  next  morning,  coming  from  the 
spring,  found  no  abstraction  or  preoccupa- 
tion in  the  soft  eyes  of  Gideon  Deane  as  he 
suddenly  appeared  before  her,  and  gently 
relieved  her  of  the  bucket  she  was  carrying. 
A  quick  flush  of  color  over  her  brow  and 
cheek-bone,  as  if  a  hot  iron  had  passed  there, 
and  a  certain  astringent  coyness,  would  have 
embarrassed  any  other  man  than  him. 

"  Sho,  it 's  you.  I  reck'ned  I  'd  seen  the 
last  of  you." 

"You  don't  mean  that,  Sister  Hiler?" 
said  Gideon,  with  a  gentle  smile. 

"  Well,  what  with  the  report  of  your  goin's 
on  at  Martinez  and  improvin'  the  occasion 
of  that  sinner's  death,  and  leadin'  a  revival, 
I  reckoned  you  'Id  hev  forgotten  low  folks  at 
Tasajara.  And  if  your  goin'  to  be  settled 
there  in  a  new  church,  with  new  hearers,  I 


60  AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE  TULES. 

reckon  you'll  want  new  surroundings  too. 
Things  change  and  young  folks  change  with 
'em." 

They  had  reached  the  house.  Her  breath 
was  quick  and  short  as  if  she  and  not  Gideon 
had  borne  the  burden.  He  placed  the  bucket 
in  its  accustomed  place,  and  then  gently  took 
her  hand  in  his.  The  act  precipitated  the 
last  drop  of  feeble  coquetry  she  had  retained, 
and  the  old  tears  took  its  place.  Let  us  hope 
for  the  last  time.  For  as  Gideon  stooped 
and  lifted  her  ailing  babe  in  his  strong  arms, 
he  said  softly,  "  Whatever  God  has  wrought 
for  me  since  we  parted,  I  know  now  He  has 
called  me  to  but  one  work." 

"And  that  work?  "  she  asked;  tremulously. 

"  To  watch  over  the  widow  and  fatherless. 
And  with  God's  blessing,  sister,  and  His 
holy  ordinance,  I  am  here  to  stay." 


SAEAH  WALKEE. 


IT  was  very  hot.  Not  a  breath  of  air  was 
stirring  throughout  the  western  wing  of  the 
Greyport  Hotel,  and  the  usual  feverish  life 
of  its  four  hundred  inmates  had  succumbed 
to  the  weather.  The  great  veranda  was 
deserted ;  the  corridors  were  desolated ;  no 
footfall  echoed  in  the  passages ;  the  lazy 
rustle  of  a  wandering  skirt,  or  a  passing 
sigh  that  was  half  a  pant,  seemed  to  inten- 
sify the  heated  silence.  An  intoxicated  bee, 
disgracefully  unsteady  in  wing  and  leg,  who 
had  been  holding  an  inebriated  conversation 
with  himself  in  the  corner  of  my  window 
pane,  had  gone  to  sleep  at  last  and  was 
snoring.  The  errant  prince  might  have 
entered  the  slumberous  halls  unchallenged, 


62  SARAH  WALKER. 

and  walked  into  any  of  the  darkened  rooms 
whose  open  doors  gaped  for  more  air,  with- 
out awakening  the  veriest  Greyport  flirt  with 
his  salutation.  At  times  a  drowsy  voice,  a 
lazily  interjected  sentence,  an  incoherent  pro- 
test, a  long-drawn  phrase  of  saccharine  tenu- 
ity suddenly  broken  off  with  a  gasp,  came 
vaguely  to  the  ear,  as  if  indicating  a  half- 
suspended,  half-articulated  existence  some- 
where, but  not  definite  enough  to  indicate 
conversation.  In  the  midst  of  this,  there  was 
the  sudden  crying  of  a  child. 

I  looked  up  from  my  work.  Through  the 
camera  of  my  jealously  guarded  window,  I 
could  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  vivid,  quivering 
blue  of  the  sky,  the  glittering,  intensity  of 
the  ocean,  the  long  motionless  leaves  of  the 
horse-chestnut  in  the  road,  —  all  utterly  in- 
consistent with  anything  as  active  as  this 
lamentation.  I  stepped  to  the  open  door 
and  into  the  silent  hall. 

Apparently  the  noise  had  attracted  the 
equal  attention  of  my  neighbors.  A  vague 


SARAH   WALKER.  63 

chorus  of  "Sarah  Walker,"  in  querulous 
recognition,  of  "  O  Lord !  that  child  again !  " 
in  hopeless  protest,  rose  faintly  from  the 
different  rooms.  As  the  lamentations  seemed 
to  approach  nearer,  the  visitors'  doors  were 
successively  shut,  swift  footsteps  hurried 
along  the  hall;  past  my  open  door  came  a 
momentary  vision  of  a  heated  nursemaid 
carrying  a  tumultuous  chaos  of  frilled  skirts, 
flying  sash,  rebellious  slippers,  and  tossing 
curls  ;  there  was  a  moment's  rallying  strug- 
gle before  the  room  nearly  opposite  mine, 
and  then  a  door  opened  and  shut  upon  the 
vision.  It  was  Sarah  Walker ! 

Everybody  knew  her ;  few  had  ever  seen 
more  of  her  than  this  passing  vision.  In 
the  great  hall,  in  the  dining-room,  in  the 
vast  parlors,  in  the  garden,  in  the  avenue, 
on  the  beach,  a  sound  of  lamentation  had 
always  been  followed  by  this  same  brief  ap- 
parition. Was  there  a  sudden  pause  among 
the  dancers  and  a  subjugation  of  the  loudest 
bassoons  in  the  early  evening  "hop,"  the  ex- 


64  SARAH   WALKER. 

planation  was  given  in  the  words  "  Sarah 
Walker."  Was  there  a  wild  confusion 
among  the  morning  bathers  on  the  sands, 
people  whispered  "  Sarah  Walker."  A  panic 
among  the  waiters  at  dinner,  an  interruption 
in  the  Sunday  sacred  concert,  a  disorgani- 
zation of  the  after-dinner  promenade  on  the 
veranda,  was  instantly  referred  to  Sarah 
Walker.  Nor  were  her  efforts  confined  en- 
tirely to  public  life.  In  cozy  corners  and 
darkened  recesses,  bearded  lips  withheld 
the  amorous  declaration  to  mutter  "  Sarah 
Walker  "  between  their  clenched  teeth  ;  coy 
and  bashful  tongues  found  speech  at  last  in 
the  rapid  formulation  of  "  Sarah  Walker." 
Nobody  ever  thought  of  abbreviating  her 
full  name.  The  two  people  in  the  hotel, 
otherwise  individualized,  but  known  only 
as  "  Sarah  Walker's  father  "  and  "  Sarah 
Walker's  mother,"  and  never  as  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Walker,  addressed  her  only  as  "  Sarah 
Walker;"  two  animals  that  were  occasion- 
ally a  part  of  this  passing  pageant  were 


SARAH   WALKER.  65 

known  as  "  Sarah  Walker's  dog  "  and  "  Sa- 
rah Walker's  cat,"  and  later  it  was  my  proud 
privilege  to  sink  my  own  individuality  under 
the  title  of  "  that  friend  of  Sarah  Walker's." 
It  must  not  be  supposed  that  she  had 
attained  this  baleful  eminence  without  some  - 
active  criticism.  Every  parent  in  the  Grey- 
port  Hotel  had  held  his  or  her  theory  of  the 
particular  defects  of  Sarah  Walker's  educa- 
tion ;  every  virgin  and  bachelor  had  openly 
expressed  views  of  the  peculiar  discipline 
that  was  necessary  to  her  subjugation.  It 
may  be  roughly  estimated  that  she  would 
have  spent  the  entire  nine  years  of  her  active 
life  in  a  dark  cupboard  on  an  exclusive  diet 
of  bread  and  water,  had  this  discipline  ob- 
tained ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  had  the  ed- 
ucational theories  of  the  parental  assembly 
prevailed,  she  would  have  ere  this  shone  an 
etherealized  essence  in  the  angelic  host.  In 
either  event  she  would  have  "ceased  from 
troubling,"  which  was  the  general  Greyport 
idea  of  higher  education.  A  paper  read  be- 


66  SARAH    WALKER. 

fore  our  Literary  Society  on  "  Sarah  Walker 
and  other  infantile  diseases,"  was  referred 
to  in  the  catalogue  as  "  Walker,  Sarah,  Pre- 
vention and  Cure,"  while  the  usual  burlesque 
legislation  of  our  summer  season  culminated 
in  the  Act  entitled  "  An  Act  to  amend  an 
Act  entitled  an  Act  for  the  abatement  of 
Sarah  Walker."  As  she  was  hereafter  ex- 
clusively to  be  fed  "  on  the  provisions  of  this 
Act,"  some  idea  of  its  general  tone  may  be 
gathered.  It  was  a  singular  fact  in  this 
point  of  her  history  that  her  natural  progen- 
itors not  only  offered  no  resistance  to  the 
doubtful  celebrity  of  their  offspring,  but,  by 
hopelessly  accepting  the  situation,  to  some 
extent  posed  as  Sarah  Walkep's  victims. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Walker  were  known  to  be 
rich,  respectable,  and  indulgent  to  their  only 
child.  They  themselves  had  been  evolved 
from  a  previous  generation  of  promiscuously 
acquired  wealth  into  the  repose  of  inherited 
property,  but  it  was  currently  accepted  that 
Sarah  had  "  cast  back "  and  reincarnated 


SARAH   WALKER.  67 

some  waif  on  the  deck  of  an  emigrant  ship 
at  the  beginning  of  the  century. 

Such  was  the  child  separated  from  me  by 
this  portentous  history,  a  narrow  passage, 
and  a  closed  nursery  door.  Presently,  how- 
ever, the  door  was  partly  opened  again  as  if 
to  admit  the  air.  The  crying  had  ceased, 
but  in  its  place  the  monotonous  Voice  of 
Conscience,  for  the  moment  personated  by 
Sarah  Walker's  nursemaid,  kept  alive  a 
drowsy  recollection  of  Sarah  Walker's  trans- 
gressions. 

"  You  see,"  said  the  Voice,  "  what  a  dread- 
ful thing  it  is  for  a  little  girl  to  go  on  as  you 
do.  I  am  astonished  at  you,  Sarah  Walker. 
So  is  everybody ;  so  is  the  good  ladies  next 
door ;  so  is  the  kind  gentleman  opposite ;  so 
is  all!  Where  you  expect  to  go  to,  'Evin 
only  knows !  How  you  expect  to  be  forgiven, 
saints  alone  can  tell !  But  so  it  is  always, 
and  yet  you  keep  it  up.  And  would  n't  you 
like  it  different,  Sarah  Walker?  Wouldn't 
you  like  to  have  everybody  love  you? 


68  SARAH   WALKER. 

Wouldn't  you  like  them  good  ladies  next 
door,  and  that  nice  gentleman  opposite,  all 
to  kinder  rise  up  and  say,  '  Oh,  what  a  dear 
good  little  girl  Sarah  Walker  is?'"  The 
interpolation  of  a  smacking  sound  of  lips, 
as  if  in  unctuous  anticipation  of  Sarah 
Walker's  virtue,  here  ensued  —  "  Oh,  what 
a  dear,  good,  sw-e-et,  lovely  little  girl  Sarah 
Walker  is ! " 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  It  may  have 
been  fancy,  but  I  thought  that  some  of  the 
doors  in  the  passage  creaked  softly  as  if  in 
listening  expectation.  Then  the  silence  was 
broken  by  a  sigh.  Had  Sarah  Walker  in- 
gloriously  succumbed  ?  Rash  and  impotent 
conclusion ! 

"I  don't,"  said  Sarah  Walker's  voice, 
slowly  rising  until  it  broke  on  the  crest  of  a 
mountainous  sob,  "I  —  don't  —  want  —  'em 

—  to  —  love  me.     I  —  don't  want  —  'em  — 
to  say  —  what  a  —  dear  —  good  —  little  girl 

—  Sarah  Walker   is  !  "      She   caught    her 
breath.     "I — want  —  'em  —  to  say  —  what 


SARAH   WALKER.  69 

a  naughty  —  bad  —  dirty  —  horrid  —  filthy 
—  little  girl  Sarah  Walker  is  —  so  I  do. 
There ! " 

The  doors  slammed  all  along  the  passages. 
The  dreadful  issue  was  joined.  I  softly 
crossed  the  hall  and  looked  into  Sarah 
Walker's  room. 

The  light  from  a  half-opened  shutter  fell 
full  upon  her  rebellious  little  figure.  She 
had  stiffened  herself  in  a  large  easy-chair 
into  the  attitude  in  which  she  had  been  evi- 
dently deposited  there  by  the  nurse  whose 
torn-off  apron  she  still  held  rigidly  in  one 
hand.  Her  shapely  legs  stood  out  before 
her,  jointless  and  inflexible  to  the  point  of 
her  tiny  shoes  —  a  pose  copied  with  pathetic 
fidelity  by  the  French  doll  at  her  feet.  The 
attitude  must  have  been  dreadfully  uncom- 
fortable, and  maintained  only  as  being  re- 
plete with  some  vague  insults  to  the  person 
who  had  put  her  down,  as  exhibiting  a  wild 
indecorum  of  silken  stocking.  A  mystified 
kitten  —  Sarah  Walker's  inseparable  —  was 


70  SARAH   WALKER. 

held  as  rigidly  under  one  arm  with  equal 
dumb  aggressiveness.  Following  the  ,  stiff 
line  of  her  half-recumbent  figure,  her  head 
suddenly  appeared  perpendicularly  erect  — 
yet  the  only  mobile  part  of  her  body.  A 
dazzling  sunburst  of  silky  hair,  the  color  of 
burnished  copper,  partly  hid  her  neck  and 
shoulders  and  the  back  of  the  chair.  Her 
eyes  were  a  darker  shade  of  the  same  color 
—  the  orbits  appearing  deeper  and  larger 
from  the  rubbing  in  of  habitual  tears  from 
long  wet  lashes.  Nothing  so  far  seemed  in- 
consistent with  her  infelix  reputation,  but, 
strange  to  say,  her  other  features  were 
marked  by  delicacy  and  refinement,  and  her 
mouth  —  that  sorely  exercised  and  justly 
dreaded  member — was  small  and  pretty, 
albeit  slightly  dropped  at  the  corners. 

The  immediate  effect  of  my  intrusion  was 
limited  solely  to  the  nursemaid.  Swooping 
suddenly  upon  Sarah  Walker's  too  evident 
deshabille,  she  made  two  or  three  attempts 
to  pluck  her  into  propriety ;  but  the  child, 


SARAH   WALKER.  71 

recognizing  the  cause  as  well  as  the  effect, 
looked  askance  at  me  and  only  stiffened 
herself  the  more.  "  Sarah  Walker,  I  'm 
shocked." 

"  It  ain't  his  room  anyway,"  said  Sarah, 
eying  me  malevolently.  "  What 's  he  doing 
here?" 

There  was  so  much  truth  in  this  that  I  in- 
voluntarily drew  back  abashed.  The  nurse- 
maid ejaculated  "  Sarah !  "  and  lifted  her 
eyes  in  hopeless  protest. 

"  And  he  need  n't  come  seeing  you"  con- 
tinued Sarah,  lazily  rubbing  the  back  of  her 
head  against  the  chair ;  "  my  papa  don't 
allow  it.  He  warned  you  'bout  the  other 
gentleman,  you  know." 

"Sarah  Walker!" 

I  felt  it  was  necessary  to  say  something. 
"  Don't  you  want  to  come  with  me  and  look 
at  the  sea  ?  "  I  said  with  utter  feebleness  of 
invention.  To  my  surprise,  instead  of  ac- 
tively assaulting  me  Sarah  Walker  got  up, 
shook  her  hair  over  her  shoulders,  and  took 
my  hand. 


72  SARAH   WALKER. 

"  With  your  hair  in  that  state  ?  "  almost 
screamed  the  domestic.  But  Sarah  Walker 
had  already  pulled  me  into  the  hall.  What 
particularly  offensive  form  of  opposition  to 
authority  was  implied  in  this  prompt  assent 
to  my  proposal  I  could  only  darkly  guess. 
For  myself  I  knew  I  must  appear  to  her  a 
weak  impostor.  What  would  there  possibly 
be  in  the  sea  to  interest  Sarah  Walker  ?  For 
the  moment  I  prayed  for  a  water-spout,  a 
shipwreck,  a  whale,  or  any  marine  miracle 
to  astound  her  and  redeem  my  character.  I 
walked  guiltily  down  the  hall,  holding  her 
hand  bashfully  in  mine.  I  noticed  that  her 
breast  began  to  heave  convulsively;  if  she 
cried  I  knew  I  should  mingle  my  tears  with 
hers.  We  reached  the  veranda  in  gloomy 
silence.  As  I  expected,  the  sea  lay  before 
us  glittering  in  the  sun  —  vacant,  staring, 
flat,  and  hopelessly  and  unquestionably  unin- 
teresting. 

"  I  knew  it  all  along,"  said  Sarah  Walker, 
turning  down  the  corners  of  her  mouth; 


SARAH   WALKER.  73 

"  there  never  was  anything  to  see.  I  know 
why  you  got  me  to  come  here.  You  want  to 
tell  me  if  I  'in  a  good  girl  you  '11  take  me  to 
sail  some  day.  You  want  to  say  if  I  'm  bad 
the  sea  will  swallow  me  up.  That 's  all  you 
want,  you  horrid  thing  you !  " 

"Hush!"  I  said,  pointing  to  the  corner 
of  the  veranda. 

A  desperate  idea  of  escape  had  just  seized 
me.  Bolt  upright  in  the  recess  of  a  window 
sat  a  nursemaid  who  had  succumbed  to  sleep 
equally  with  her  helpless  charge  in  the  per- 
ambulator beside  her.  I  instantly  recognized 
the  infant  —  a  popular  organism  known  as 
"  Baby  Buckly  "  —  the  prodigy  of  the  Grey- 
port  Hotel,  the  pet  of  its  enthusiastic  wo- 
manhood. Fat  and  featureless,  pink  and 
pincushiony,  it  was  borrowed  by  gushing 
maidenhood,  exchanged  by  idiotic  maternity, 
and  had  grown  unctuous  and  tumefacient 
under  the  kisses  and  embraces  of  half  the 
hotel.  Even  in  its  present  repose  it  looked 
moist  and  shiny  from  indiscriminate  and  pro- 
miscuous osculation. 


74  SARAH   WALKER. 

"  Let 's  borrow  Baby  Buckly,"  I  said  reck- 
lessly. 

Sarah  Walker  at  once  stopped  crying.  I 
don't  know  how  she  did  it,  but  the  cessation 
was  instantaneous,  as  if  she  had  turned  off 
a  tap  somewhere. 

"  And  put  it  in  Mr.  Peters'  bed !  "  I  con- 
tinued. 

Peters  being  notoriously  a  grim  bachelor, 
the  bare  suggestion  bristled  with  outrage. 
Sarah  Walker's  eyes  sparkled. 

"  You  don't  mean  it !  —  go  'way !  "  —  she 
said  with  affected  coyness. 

"  But  I  do !     Come." 

We  extracted  it  noiselessly  together  — 
that  is,  Sarah  Walker  did,  with'deft  woman- 
liness —  carried  it  darkly  along  the  hall  to 
No.  27,  and  deposited  it  in  Peters'  bed,  where 
it  lay  like  a  freshly  opened  oyster.  We  then 
returned  hand  in  hand  to  my  room,  where 
we  looked  out  of  the  window  on  the  sea.  It 
was  observable  that  there  was  no  lack  of  in- 
terest in  Sarah  Walker  now. 


SARAH  WALKER.  75 

Before  five  minutes  had  elapsed  some  one 
breathlessly  passed  the  open  door  while  we 
were  still  engaged  in  marine  observation. 
This  was  followed  by  return  footsteps  and  a 
succession  of  swiftly  rustling  garments,  until 
the  majority  of  the  women  in  our  wing  had 
apparently  passed  our  room,  and  we  saw  an 
irregular  stream  of  nursemaids  and  mothers 
converging  towards  the  hotel  out  of  the  grate- 
ful shadow  of  arbors,  trees,  and  marquees. 
In  fact  we  were  still  engaged  in  observation 
when  Sarah  Walker's  nurse  came  to  fetch 
her  away,  and  to  inform  her  that  "  by  rights  " 
Baby  Buddy's  nurse  and  Mr.  Peters  should 
both  be  made  to  leave  the  hotel  that  very 
night.  Sarah  Walker  permitted  herself  to 
be  led  off  with  dry  but  expressive  eyes.  That 
evening  she  did  not  cry,  but,  on  being  taken 
into  the  usual  custody  for  disturbance,  was 
found  to  be  purple  with  suppressed  laughter. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  my  intimacy 
with  Sarah  Walker.  But  while  it  was  evi- 
dent that  whatever  influence  I  obtained  over 


76  SARAH  WALKER. 

her  was  due  to  my  being  particeps  criminis, 
I  think  it  was  accepted  that  a  regular  abduc- 
tion of  infants  might  become  in  time  monot- 
onous if  not  dangerous.  So  she  was  satisfied 
with  the  knowledge  that  I  could  not  now, 
without  the  most  glaring  hypocrisy,  obtrude 
a  moral  superiority  upon  her.  I  do  not  think 
she  would  have  turned  state  evidence  and 
accused  me,  but  I  was  by  no  means  assured 
of  her  disinterested  regard.  She  contented 
herself,  for  a  few  days  afterwards,  with  meet- 
ing me  privately  and  mysteriously  communi- 
cating unctuous  reminiscences  of  our  joint 
crime,  without  suggesting  a  repetition.  Her 
intimacy  with  me  did  not  seem  to  interfere 
with  her  general  relations  to  her  own  species 
in  the  other  children  in  the  hotel.  Perhaps 
I  should  have  said  before  that  her  popularity 
with  them  was  by  no  means  prejudiced  by 
her  infelix  reputation.  But  while  she  was 
secretly  admired  by  all,  she  had  few  professed 
followers  and  no  regular  associates.  Whether 
the  few  whom  she  selected  for  that  baleful 


SARAH   WALKER.  77 

preeminence  were  either  torn  from  her  by 
horrified  guardians,  or  came  to  grief  through 
her  dangerous  counsels,  or  whether  she  really 
did  not  care  for  them,  I  could  not  say.  Their 
elevation  was  brief,  their  retirement  unre- 
gretted.  It  was  however  permitted  me, 
through  felicitous  circumstances,  to  become 
acquainted  with  the  probable  explanation  of 
her  unsociability. 

The  very  hot  weather  culminated  one 
afternoon  in  a  dead  faint  of  earth  and  sea 
and  sky.  An  Alpine  cloudland  of  snow  that 
had  mocked  the  upturned  eyes  of  Greyport 
for  hours,  began  to  darken  under  the  folding 
shadow  of  a  black  and  velvety  wing.  The 
atmosphere  seemed  to  thicken  as  the  gloom 
increased  ;  the  lazy  dust,  thrown  up  by  hur- 
rying feet  that  sought  a  refuge,  hung  almost 
motionless  in  the  air.  Suddenly  it  was  blown 
to  the  four  quarters  in  one  fierce  gust  that 
as  quickly  dispersed  the  loungers  drooping 
in  shade  and  cover.  For  a  few  seconds  the 
long  avenue  was  lost  in  flying  clouds  of  dust, 


78  SARAH   WALKER. 

and  then  was  left  bare  of  life  or  motion. 
Raindrops  in  huge  stars  and  rosettes  ap- 
peared noiselessly  and  magically  upon  the 
sidewalks  —  gouts  of  moisture  apparently 
dropped  from  mid-air.  And  then  the  omi- 
nous hush  returned. 

A  mile  away  along  the  rocks,  I  turned  for 
shelter  into  a  cavernous  passage  of  the  over- 
hanging cliff,  where  I  could  still  watch  the 
coming  storm  upon  the  sea.  A  murmur  of 
voices  presently  attracted  my  attention.  I 
then  observed  that  the  passage  ended  in  a 
kind  of  open  grotto,  where  I  could  dimly 
discern  the  little  figures  of  several  children, 
who,  separated  from  their  nurses  in  the  sud- 
den onset  of  the  storm,  had  taken  refuge 
there.  As  the  gloom  deepened  they  became 
silent  again,  until  the  stillness  was  broken  by 
a  familiar  voice.  There  was  no  mistaking 
it.  —  It  was  Sarah  Walker's.  But  it  was 
not  lifted  in  lamentation,  it  was  raised  only 
as  if  resuming  a  suspended  narrative. 

"  Her  name,"  said  Sarah  Walker  gloomily, 


SARAH  WALKER.  79 

"  was  Kribbles.  She  was  the  only  child  — 
of  —  of  orphaned  parentage,  and  fair  to  see, 
but  she  was  bad,  and  God  did  not  love  her. 
And  one  day  she  was  separated  from  her 
nurse  on  a  desert  island  like  to  this.  And 
then  came  a  hidgeous  thunderstorm.  And 
a  great  big  thunderbolt  came  galumping 
after  her.  And  it  ketched  her  and  rolled  all 
over  her  —  so !  and  then  it  came  back  and 
ketched  her  and  rolled  her  over  —  so  !  And 
when  they  came  to  pick  her  up  there  was  not 
so  much  as  that  left  of  her.  All  burnt  up !  " 

"  Was  n't  there  just  a  little  bit  of  her 
shoe  ?  "  suggested  a  cautious  auditor. 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  Sarah  Walker  firmly. 
All  the  other  children  echoed  "  Not  a  bit," 
indignantly,  in  evident  gratification  at  the 
completeness  of  Kribbles'  catastrophe.  At 
this  moment  the  surrounding  darkness  was 
suddenly  filled  with  a  burst  of  blue  celes- 
tial fire  ;  the  heavy  inky  sea  beyond,  the 
black-edged  mourning  horizon,  the  gleaming 
sands,  each  nook  and  corner  of  the  dripping 


80  SARAH   WALKER. 

cave,  with  the  frightened  faces  of  the  hud- 
dled group  of  children,  started  into  vivid  life 
for  an  instant,  and  then  fell  back  with  a 
deafening  crash  into  the  darkness. 

There  was  a  slight  sound  of  whimpering. 
Sarah  Walker  apparently  pounced  upon  the 
culprit,  for  it  ceased. 

"  Sniffling  'tracts  'lectricity,"  she  said  sen- 
tentiously. 

"  But  you  thaid  it  wath  Dod !  "  lisped  a 
casuist  of  seven. 

"  It 's  all  the  same,"  said  Sarah  sharply, 
"  and  so  's  asking  questions." 

This  obscure  statement  was  however  ap- 
parently understood,  for  the  casuist  lapsed 
into  silent  security.  "  Lots  of  lEings  "tracts 
it,"  continued  Sarah  Walker.  "  Gold  and 
silver,  and  metals  and  knives  and  rings." 

"  And  pennies  ?  " 

"  And  pennies  most  of  all !  Kribbles  was 
that  vain,  she  used  to  wear  jewelry  and  fly 
in  the  face  of  Providence." 

"  But  you  thaid  "  — 


SARAH   WALKER.  81 

"Will  you?— There!  you  hear  that?" 
There  was  another  blinding  flash  and  bound- 
ing roll  of  thunder  along  the  shore.  "I 
wonder  you  did  n't  ketch  it.  You  would  — 
only  I  'm  here." 

All  was  quiet  again,  but  from  certain  in- 
dications it  was  evident  that  a  collection  of 
those  dangerous  articles  that  had  proved 
fatal  to  the  unhappy  Kribbles  was  being 
taken  up.  I  could  hear  the  clink  of  coins 
and  jingle  of  ornaments.  That  Sarah  her- 
self was  the  custodian  was  presently  shown. 
"  But  won't  the  lightning  come  to  you  now  ?  " 
asked  a  timid  voice. 

"  No,"  said  Sarah,  promptly,  "  'cause  I 
ain't  afraid  !  Look !  " 

A  frightened  protest  from  the  children 
here  ensued,  but  the  next  instant  she  ap- 
peared at  the  entrance  of  the  grotto  and  ran 
down  the  rocks  towards  the  sea.  Skipping 
from  bowlder  to  bowlder  she  reached  the 
furthest  projection  of  the  ledge,  now  partly 
submerged  by  the  rising  surf,  and  then 

6 


82  SARAH   WALKER. 

turned  half  triumphantly,  half  defiantly,  to- 
wards the  grotto.  The  weird  phosphores- 
cence of  the  storm  lit  up  the  resolute  little 
figure  standing  there,  gorgeously  bedecked 
with  the  chains,  rings,  and  shiny  trinkets  of 
her  companions.  With  a  tiny  hand  raised 
in  mock  defiance  of  the  elements,  she  seemed 
to  lean  confidingly  against  the  panting  breast 
of  the  gale,  with  fluttering  skirt  and  flying 
tresses.  Then  the  vault  behind  her  cracked 
with  three  jagged  burning  fissures,  a  weird 
flame  leaped  upon  the  sand,  there  was  a  cry 
of  terror  from  the  grotto,  echoed  by  a  scream 
of  nurses  on  the  cliff,  a  deluge  of  rain,  a 
terrific  onset  from  the  gale  —  and  —  Sarah 
Walker  was  gone  ?  Nothing  -of  the  kind ! 
When  I  reached  the  ledge,  after  a  severe 
struggle  with  the  storm,  I  found  Sarah  on 
the  leeward  side,  drenched  but  delighted.  I 
held  her  tightly,  while  we  waited  for  a  lull 
to  regain  the  cliff,  and  took  advantage  of 
the  sympathetic  situation. 

"  But  you    know  you    were   frightened, 


SARAH    WALKER.  83 

Sarah,"  I  whispered ;  "  you  thought  of  what 
happened  to  poor  Kribbles." 

"  Do  you  know  who  Kribbles  was  ?  "  she 
asked  confidentially. 

"No." 

"  Well,"  she  whispered,  "  I  made  Krib- 
bles up.  And  the  hidgeous  storm  and  thun- 
derbolt —  and  the  burning  !  All  out  of  my 
own  head." 

The  only  immediate  effect  of  this  escapade 
was  apparently  to  precipitate  and  bring  into 
notoriety  the  growing  affection  of  an  obscure 
lover  of  Sarah  Walker's,  hitherto  unsus- 
pected. He  was  a  mild  inoffensive  boy  of 
twelve,  known  as  "  Warts,"  solely  from  an 
inordinate  exhibition  of  these  youthful  ex- 
crescences. On  the  day  of  Sarah  Walker's 
adventure  his  passion  culminated  in  a  sud- 
den and  illogical  attack  upon  Sarah's  nurse 
and  parents  while  they  were  bewailing  her 
conduct,  and  in  assaulting  them  with  his  feet 
and  hands.  Whether  he  associated  them  in 
some  vague  way  with  the  cause  of  her  mo- 


84  SARAH  WALKER. 

mentary  peril,  or  whether  he  only  wished  to 
impress  her  with  the  touching  flattery  of  a 
general  imitation  of  her  style,  I  cannot  say. 
For  his  love-making  was  peculiar.  A  day 
or  two  afterwards  he  came  to  my  open  door 
and  remained  for  some  moments  bashfully 
looking  at  me.  The  next  day  I  found  him 
standing  by  my  chair  in  the  piazza  with  an 
embarrassed  air  and  in  utter  inability  to  ex- 
plain his  conduct.  At  the  end  of  a  rapid 
walk  on  the  sand  one  morning,  I  was  startled 
by  the  sound  of  hurried  breath,  and  looking 
around,  discovered  the  staggering  Warts 
quite  exhausted  by  endeavoring  to  keep  up 
with  me  on  his  short  legs.  At  last  the  daily 
recurrence  of  his  haunting  presence  forced 
a  dreadful  suspicion  upon  me.  Warts  was 
courting  me  for  Sarah  Walker !  Yet  it  was 
impossible  to  actually  connect  her  with  these 
mute  attentions.  "  You  want  me  to  give 
them  to  Sarah  Walker,"  I  said  cheerfully 
one  afternoon,  as  he  laid  upon  my  desk  some 
peculiarly  uninviting  Crustacea  which  looked 


SARAH    WALKER.  85 

not  unlike  a  few  detached  excrescences  from 
his  own  hands.  He  shook  his  head  decid- 
edly. "  I  understand,"  I  continued,  con- 
fidently; "you  want  me  to  keep  them  for 
her."  "  No,"  said  Warts,  doggedly.  "  Then 
you  only  want  me  to  tell  her  how  nice  they 
are  ?  "  The  idea  was  apparently  so  shame- 
lessly true  that  he  blushed  himself  hastily 
into  the  passage,  and  ceased  any  future  con- 
tribution. Naturally  still  more  ineffective 
was  the  slightest  attempt  to  bring  his  de- 
votion into  the  physical  presence  of  Sarah 
Walker.  The  most  ingenious  schemes  to  lure 
him  into  my  room  while  she  was  there  failed 
utterly.  Yet  he  must  have  at  one  time 
basked  in  her  baleful  presence.  "  Do  you 
like  Warts  ?  "  I  asked  her  one  day  bluntly. 
"  Yes,"  said  Sarah  Walker  with  cheerful 
directness  ;  "  ain't  he  got  a  lot  of  'em  ?  — 
though  he  used  to  have  more.  But,"  she 
added  reflectively,  "  do  you  know  the  little 
Ilsey  boy  ?  "  I  was  compelled  to  admit  my 
ignorance.  "  Well !  "  she  said  with  a  rem- 


86  SARAH   WALKER. 

iniscent  sigh  of  satisfaction,  "  he  9s  got  only 
two  toes  on  his  left  foot  —  showed  'em  to 
me.  And  he  was  born  so."  Need  it  be 
said  that  in  these  few  words  I  read  the  dis- 
mal sequel  of  Warts'  unfortunate  attach- 
ment? His  accidental  eccentricity  was  no 
longer  attractive.  What  were  his  evanescent 
accretions,  subject  to  improvement  or  re- 
moval, beside  the  hereditary  and  settled  mal- 
formations of  his  rival? 

Once  only,  in  this  brief  summer  episode, 
did  Sarah  Walker  attract  the  impulsive  and 
general  sympathy  of  Greyport.  It  is  only 
just  to  her  consistency  to  say  it  was  through 
no  fault  of  hers,  unless  a  characteristic  ex- 
posure which  brought  on  a  chill  and  diphthe- 
ria could  be  called  her  own  act.  Howbeit, 
towards  the  close  of  the  season,  when  a  sud- 
den suggestion  of  the  coming  autumn  had 
crept,  one  knew  not  how,  into  the  heart  of  a 
perfect  day  ;  when  even  a  return  of  the  sum- 
mer warmth  had  a  suspicion  of  hectic,  —  on 
one  of  these  days  Sarah  Walker  was  missed 


SARAH    WALKER.  87 

with  the  bees  and  the  butterflies.  For  two 
days  her  voice  had  not  been  heard  in  hall  or 
corridor,  nor  had  the  sunshine  of  her  French 
marigold  head  lit  up  her  familiar  places. 
The  two  days  were  days  of  relief,  yet  miti- 
gated with  a  certain  uneasy  apprehension  of 
the  return  of  Sarah  Walker,  or  —  more 
alarming  thought !  —  the  Sarah  Walker  ele- 
ment in  a  more  appalling  form.  So  strong 
was  this  impression  that  an  unhappy  infant 
who  unwittingly  broke  this  interval  with  his 
maiden  outcry  was  nearly  lynched.  "  We  're 
not  going  to  stand  that  from  you,  you  know," 
was  the  crystallized  sentiment  of  a  brutal 
bachelor.  In  fact,  it  began  to  be  admitted 
that  Greyport  had  been  accustomed  to  Sarah 
Walker's  ways.  In  the  midst  of  this,  it  was 
suddenly  whispered  that  Sarah  Walker  was 
lying  dangerously  ill,  and  was  not  expected 
to  live. 

Then  occurred  one  of  those  strange  revul- 
sions of  human  sentiment  which  at  first  seem 
to  point  the  dawning  of  a  millennium  of 


88  SARAH   WALKER. 

poetic  justice,  but  which,  in  this  case,  ended 
in  merely  stirring  the  languid  pulses  of  so- 
ciety into  a  hectic  fever,  and  in  making  sym- 
pathy for  Sarah  Walker  an  insincere  and 
exaggerated  fashion.  Morning  and  after- 
noon visits  to  her  apartment,  with  extrava- 
gant offerings,  were  de  rigueur ;  bulletins 
were  issued  three  times  a  day ;  an  allusion  to 
her  condition  was  the  recognized  preliminary 
to  all  conversation  ;  advice,  suggestions,  and 
petitions  to  restore  the  baleful  existence 
flowed  readily  from  the  same  facile  invention 
that  had  once  proposed  its  banishment ;  un- 
til one  afternoon  the  shadow  had  drawn  so 
close  that  even  Folly  withheld  its  careless 
feet  before  it,  and  laid  down  its  'feeble  tink- 
ling bells  and  gaudy  cap  tremblingly  on  the 
threshold.  But  the  sequel  must  be  told  in 
more  vivid  words  than  mine. 

"  Whin  I  saw  that  angel  lyin'  there," 
said  Sarah  Walker's  nurse,  "  as  white,  if  ye 
plaze,  as  if  the  whole  blessed  blood  of  her 
body  had  gone  to  make  up  the  beautiful 


SARAH   WALKER.  89 

glory  of  her  hair ;  speechless  as  she  was,  I 
thought  I  saw  a  sort  of  longin'  in  her  eyes. 

"  4  Is  it  anythin'  you  '11  be  wantin',  Sarah 
darlint,'  sez  her  mother  with  a  thremblin' 
voice,  '  afore  it 's  lavin'  us  ye  are  ?  Is  it  the 
ministher  yer  askin'  for,  love  ?  '  sez  she. 

"  And  Sarah  looked  at  me,  and  if  it  was 
the  last  words  I  spake,  her  lips  moved  and 
she  whispered  '  Scotty.' 

"  '  Wirra !  wirra  ! '  sez  the  mother,  *  it 's 
wanderin'  she  is,  the  darlin'  ; '  for  Scotty, 
don't  ye  see,  was  the  grand  bar-keeper  of 
the  hotel. 

" '  Savin'  yer  presence,  ma'am,'  sez  I, 
4  and  the  child's  here,  ez  is  half  a  saint  al- 
ready, it 's  thruth  she  's  spakin'  —  it 's  Scotty 
she  wants.'  And  with  that  my  angel  blinks 
wid  her  black  eyes  '  yes.' 

" '  Bring  him,'  says  the  docthor,  '  at  once.' 

"  And  they  bring  him  in  wid  all  the  mus- 
tachios  and  moighty  fine  curls  of  him,  and 
his  diamonds,  rings,  and  pins  all  a-glistening 
just  like  his  eyes  when  he  set  'em  on  that 
suffering  saint. 


90  SARAH    WALKER. 

" '  Is  it  anythin'  you  're  wantin',  Sarah 
dear  ?  '  sez  he,  thryin'  to  spake  firm.  And 
Sarah  looks  at  him,  and  then  looks  at  a  tum- 
bler on  the  table. 

"  4  Is  it  a  bit  of  a  cocktail,  the  likes  of 
the  one  I  made  for  ye  last  Sunday  unbe- 
knownst?' sez  he,  looking  round  mortal 
afraid  of  the  parents.  And  Sarah  Walker's 
eyes  said,  4  It  is.'  Then  the  ministher 
groaned,  but  the  docthor  jumps  to  his  feet. 

" '  Bring  it,'  sez  he,  '  and  howld  your  jaw, 
an  ye 's  a  Christian  sowl.'  And  he  brought 
it.  An'  afther  the  first  sip,  the  child  lifts 
herself  up  on  one  arm,  and  sez,  with  a  swate 
smile  and  a  toss  of  the  glass : 

" '  I  looks  towards  you,  Scotty,v  sez  she. 

"  '  I  observes  you  and  bows,  miss,'  sez  he, 
makin'  as  if  he  was  dhrinkin*  wid  her. 

"  '  Here 's  another  nail  in  yer  coffin,  old 
man,'  sez  she  winkin'. 

"  '  And  here 's  the  hair  all  off  your  head, 
miss,'  sez  he  quite  aisily,  tossin'  back  the 
joke  betwixt  'em. 


SARAH  WALKER.  91 

"And  with  that  she  dhrinks  it  off,  and 
lies  down  and  goes  to  sleep  like  a  lamb,  and 
wakes  up  wid  de  rosy  dawn  in  her  cheeks, 
and  the  morthal  seekness  gone  forever." 

Thus  Sarah  Walker  recovered.  Whether 
the  fact  were  essential  to  the  moral  conveyed 
in  these  pages,  I  leave  the  reader  to  judge. 

I  was  leaning  on  the  terrace  of  the  Kron- 
prinzen-Hof  at  Rolandseck  one  hot  summer 
afternoon,  lazily  watching  the  groups  of  tour- 
ists strolling  along  the  road  that  ran  between 
the  Hof  and  the  Rhine.  There  was  certainly 
little  in  the  place  or  its  atmosphere  to  recall 
the  Greyport  episode  of  twenty  years  before, 
when  I  was  suddenly  startled  by  hearing  the 
name  of  "Sarah  Walker." 

In  the  road  below  me  were  three  figures, 
—  a  lady,  a  gentleman,  and  a  little  girl.  As 
the  latter  turned  towards  the  lady  who  ad- 
dressed her,  I  recognized  the  unmistakable 
copper  -  colored  tresses,  trim  figure,  deli- 
cate complexion,  and  refined  features  of  the 


92  SARAH   WALKER. 

friend  of  my  youth  !  I  seized  my  hat,  but 
by  the  time  I  had  reached  the  road,  they 
had  disappeared. 

The  utter  impossibility  of  its  being  Sarah 
Walker  herself,  and  the  glaring  fact  that 
the  very  coincidence  of  name  would  be  in- 
consistent with  any  conventional  descent 
from  the  original  Sarah,  I  admit  confused 
me.  But  I  examined  the  book  of  the  Kron- 
prinzen-Hof  and  the  other  hotels,  and  ques- 
tioned my  portier.  There  was  no  "Mees  " 
nor  "  Madame  Walkiere  "  extant  in  Roland- 
seek.  Yet  might  not  Monsieur  have  heard 
incorrectly?  The  Czara  Walka  was  evi- 
dently Russian,  and  Rolandseck  was  a  re- 
sort for  Russian  princes.  But  pardon ! 
Did  Monsieur  really  mean  the  young  demoi- 
selle now  approaching  ?  Ah  !  that  was  a  dif- 
ferent affair.  She  was  the  daughter  of  the 
Italian  Prince  and  Princess  Monte  Castello 
staying  here.  The  lady  with  her  was  not  the 
Princess,  but  a  foreign  friend.  The  gentle- 
man was  the  Prince.  Would  he  present 
Monsieur's  card  ? 


SARAH    WALKER.  93 

They  were  entering  the  hotel.  The  Prince 
was  a  little,  inoffensive-looking  man,  the  lady 
an  evident  countrywoman  of  my  own,  and 
the  child  — was,  yet  was  not,  Sarah!  There 
was  the  face,  the  outline,  the  figure  —  but 
the  life,  the  verve,  the  audacity,  was  want- 
ing !  I  could  contain  myself  no  longer. 

"Pardon  an  inquisitive  compatriot,  mad- 
am," I  said ;  "  but  I  heard  you  a  few  mo- 
ments ago  address  this  young  lady  by  the 
name  of  a  very  dear  young  friend,  whom  I 
knew  twenty  years  ago —  Sarah  Walker. 
Am  I  right  ?  " 

The  Prince  stopped  and  gazed  at  us  both 
with  evident  affright ;  then  suddenly  recog- 
nizing in  my  freedom  some  wild  American 
indecorum,  doubtless  provoked  by  the  pres- 
ence of  another  of  my  species,  which  he 
really  was  not  expected  to  countenance,  re- 
treated behind  the  portier.  The  circum- 
stance by  no  means  increased  the  good-will 
of  the  lady,  as  she  replied  somewhat  haugh- 
tily :  — 


94  SARAH    WALKER. 

"  The  Principessina  is  named  Sarah 
Walker,  after  her  mother's  maiden  name." 

"  Then  this  is  Sarah  Walker's  daughter  !  " 
I  said  joyfully. 

"  She  is  the  daughter  of  the  Prince  and 
Princess  of  Monte  Castello,"  corrected  the 
lady  frigidly. 

"  I  had  the  pleasure  of  knowing  her  mother 
very  well."  I  stopped  and  blushed.  Did  I 
really  know  Sarah  Walker  very  well  ?  And 
would  Sarah  Walker  know  me  now?  Or 
would  it  not  be  very  like  her  to  go  back  on 
me?  There  was  certainly  anything  but 
promise  in  the  feeble-minded,  vacuous  copy 
of  Sarah  before  me.  I  was  yet  hesitating, 
when  the  Prince,  who  had  possibly  received 
some  quieting  assurance  from  the  portier, 
himself  stepped  forward,  stammered  that  the 
Princess  would,  without  doubt,  be  charmed 
to  receive  me  later,  and  skipped  upstairs, 
leaving  the  impression  on  my  mind  that  he 
contemplated  ordering  his  bill  at  once. 
There  was  no  excuse  for  further  prolonging 


SARAH   WALKER.  95 

the  interview.  "  Say  good-by  to  the  strange 
gentleman,  Sarah,"  suggested  Sarah's  com- 
panion stiffly.  I  looked  at  the  child  in  the 
wild  hope  of  recognizing  some  prompt  resist- 
ance to  the  suggestion  that  would  have  iden- 
tified her  with  the  lost  Sarah  of  my  youth  — 
but  in  vain.  "  Good-by,  sir,"  said  the  af- 
fected little  creature,  dropping  a  mechanical 
curtsey.  "  Thank  you  very  much  for  remem- 
bering my  mother."  "  Good-by,  Sarah  !  " 
It  was  indeed  good-by  forever. 

For  on  my  way  to  my  room  I  came  sud- 
denly upon  the  Prince,  in  a  recess  of  the 
upper  hall,  addressing  somebody  through  an 
open  door  with  a  querulous  protest,  whose 
wild  extravagance  of  statement  was  gro- 
tesquely balanced  by  its  utter  feeble  timid- 
ity of  manner.  "It  is,"  said  the  Prince, 
"  indeed  a  grave  affair.  We  have  here  hun- 
dreds of  socialists,  emissaries  from  lawless 
countries  and  impossible  places,  who  travel 
thousands  of  miles  to  fall  upon  our  hearts 
and  embrace  us.  They  establish  an  espion- 


96  SARAH   WALKER. 

age  over  us ;  they  haunt  our  walks  in  incred- 
ible numbers  ;  they  hang  in  droves  upon  our 
footsteps ;  Heaven  alone  saves  us  from  a  pub- 
lic osculation  at  any  moment !  They  openly 
allege  that  they  have  dandled  us  on  their 
knees  at  recent  periods  ;  washed  and  dressed 
us,  and  would  do  so  still.  Our  happiness, 
our  security  "  — 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Prince.  Do  shut  up  !  " 
The  Prince  collapsed  and  shrank  away, 
and  I  hurried  past  the  open  door.  A  tall, 
magnificent-looking  woman  was  standing  be- 
fore a  glass,  arranging  her  heavy  red  hair. 
The  face,  which  had  been  impatiently  turned 
towards  the  door,  had  changed  again  to  pro- 
file, with  a  frown  still  visible 'on  the  bent 
brow.  Our  eyes  met  as  I  passed.  The 
next  moment  the  door  slammed,  and  I  had 
seen  the  last  of  Sarah  Walker. 


A  SHIP  OF  '49. 


IT  had  rained  so  persistently  in  San  Fran- 
cisco during  the  first  week  of  January,  1854, 
that  a  certain  quagmire  in  the  roadway  of 
Long  Wharf  had  become  impassable,  and  a 
plank  was  thrown  over  its  dangerous  depth. 
Indeed,  so  treacherous  was  the  spot  that  it 
was  alleged,  on  good  authority,  that  a  has- 
tily embarking  traveler  had  once  hopelessly 
lost  his  portmanteau,  and  was  fain  to  dis- 
pose of  his  entire  interest  in  it  for  the  sum 
of  two  dollars  and  fifty  cents  to  a  specula- 
tive stranger  on  the  wharf.  As  the  stran- 
ger's search  was  rewarded  afterwards  only 
by  the  discovery  of  the  body  of  a  casual 
Chinaman,  who  had  evidently  endeavored 
wickedly  to  anticipate  him,  a  feeling  of  com- 


98  A   SHIP    OF  '49. 

mercial  insecurity  was  added  to  the  other  ec- 
centricities of  the  locality. 

The  plank  led  to  the  door  of  a  building 
that  was  a  marvel  even  in  the  chaotic  fron- 
tier architecture  of  the  street.  The  houses 
on  either  side  —  irregular  frames  of  wood  or 
corrugated  iron  —  bore  evidence  of  having 
been  quickly  thrown  together,  to  meet  the 
requirements  of  the  goods  and  passengers 
who  were  once  disembarked  on  what  was  the 
muddy  beach  of  the  infant  city.  But  the 
building  in  question  exhibited  a  certain  elab- 
oration of  form  and  design  utterly  inconsis- 
tent with  this  idea.  The  structure  obtruded 
a  bowed  front  to  the  street,  with  a  curving 
line  of  small  windows,  surmounted  by  elabo- 
rate carvings  and  scroll  work  of  vines  and 
leaves,  while  below,  in  faded  gilt  letters,  ap- 
peared the  legend  "Pontiac  —  Marseilles." 
The  effect  of  this  incongruity  was  startling. 
It  is  related  that  an  inebriated  miner,  im- 
peded by  mud  and  drink  before  its  door, 
was  found  gazing  at  its  remarkable  facade 


A  SHIP   OF  '49.  99 

with  an  expression  of  the  deepest  despon- 
dency. "  I  hev  lived  a  free  life,  pardner," 
he  explained  thickly  to  the  Samaritan  who 
succored  him,  "and  every  time  since  I "ve 
been  on  this  six  weeks'  jamboree  might  have 
kalkilated  it  would  come  to  this.  Snakes 
I  've  seen  afore  now,  and  rats  I  'm  not  unfa- 
miliar with,  but  when  it  comes  to  the  starn 
of  a  ship  risin'  up  out  of  the  street,  I  reckon 
it 's  time  to  pass  in  my  checks."  "  It  is  a 
ship,  you  blasted  old  soaker,"  said  the  Sa- 
maritan curtly. 

It  was  indeed  a  ship.  A  ship  run  ashore 
and  abandoned  on  the  beach  years  before  by 
her  gold-seeking  crew,  with  the  debris  of  her 
scattered  stores  and  cargo,  overtaken  by  the 
wild  growth  of  the  strange  city  and  the  rec- 
lamation of  the  muddy  flat,  wherein  she  lay 
hopelessly  imbedded  ;  her  retreat  cut  off  by 
wharves  and  quays  and  breakwater,  jostled 
at  first  by  sheds,  and  then  impacted  in  a 
block  of  solid  warehouses  and  dwellings,  her 
rudder,  port,  and  counter  boarded  in,  and 


100  A  SHIP   OF  '49. 

now  gazing  hopelessly  through  her  cabin 
windows  upon  the  busy  street  before  her. 
But  still  a  ship  despite  her  transformation. 
The  faintest  line  of  contour  yet  left  visible 
spoke  of  the  buoyancy  of  another  element ; 
the  balustrade  of  her  roof  was  unmistakably 
a  taffrail.  The  rain  slipped  from  her  swell- 
ing sides  with  a  certain  lingering  touch  of 
the  sea ;  the  soil  around  her  was  still  treach- 
erous with  its  suggestions,  and  even  the 
wind  whistled  nautically  over  her  chimney. 
If,  in  the  fury  of  some  southwesterly  gale, 
she  had  one  night  slipped  her  strange  moor- 
ings and  left  a  shining  track  through  the 
lower  town  to  the  distant  sea,  no  one  would 
have  been  surprised. 

Least  of  all,  perhaps,  her  present  owner 
and  possessor,  Mr.  Abner  Nott.  For  by  the 
irony  of  circumstances,  Mr.  Nott  was  a  Far 
Western  farmer  who  had  never  seen  a  ship 
before,  nor  a  larger  stream  of  water  than  a 
tributary  of  the  Missouri  River.  In  a  spirit, 
half  of  fascination,  half  of  speculation,  he 


A   SHIP   OF  '49.  101 

had  bought  her  at  the  time  of  her  abandon- 
ment, and  had  since  mortgaged  his  ranch  at 
Petaluma  with  his  live  stock,  to  defray  the 
expenses  of  filling  in  the  land  where  she 
stood,  and  the  improvements  of  the  vicinity. 
He  had  transferred  his  household  goods  and 
his  only  daughter  to  her  cabin,  and  had  di- 
vided the  space  "  between  decks "  and  her 
hold  into  lodging-rooms,  and  lofts  for  the 
storage  of  goods.  It  could  hardly  be  said 
that  the  investment  had  been  profitable. 
His  tenants  vaguely  recognized  that  his  oc- 
cupancy was  a  sentimental  rather  than  a 
commercial  speculation,  and  often  generously 
lent  themselves  to  the  illusion  by  not  paying 
their  rent.  Others  treated  their  own  ten- 
ancy as  a  joke,  —  a  quaint  recreation  born 
of  the  childlike  familiarity  of  frontier  inter- 
course. A  few  had  left ;  carelessly  aban- 
doning their  unsalable  goods  to  their  land- 
lord, with  great  cheerfulness  and  a  sense  of 
favor.  Occasionally  Mr.  Abner  Nott,  in  a 
practical  relapse,  raged  against  the  derelicts, 


102  A  SHIP    OF  '49. 

and  talked  of  dispossessing  them,  or  even 
dismantling  his  tenement,  but  he  was  easily 
placated  by  a  compliment  to  the  "  dear  old 
ship,"  or  an  effort  made  by  some  tenant  to 
idealize  his  apartment.  A  photographer 
who  had  ingeniously  utilized  the  forecastle 
for  a  gallery  (accessible  from  the  bows  in 
the  next  street),  paid  no  further  tribute  than 
a  portrait  of  the  pretty  face  of  Eosey  Nott. 
The  superstitious  reverence  in  which  Abner 
Nott  held  his  monstrous  fancy  was  naturally 
enhanced  by  his  purely  bucolic  exaggeration 
of  its  real  functions  and  its  native  element. 
"This  yer  keel  has  sailed,  and  sailed,  and 
sailed,"  he  would  explain  with  some  incon- 
gruity of  illustration,  "  in  a  bee  Jine,  makin' 
tracks  for  days  runnin'.  I  reckon  more 
storms  and  blizzards  hez  tackled  her  then 
you  ken  shake  a  stick  at.  She 's  stampeded 
whales  afore  now,  and  sloshed  round  with 
pirates  and  freebooters  in  and  outer  the 
Spanish  Main,  and  across  lots  from  Marcel- 
leys  where  she  was  rared.  And  yer  she  sits 


A  SHIP   OF  '49.  103 

peaceful-like  just  ez  if  she  'd  never  been 
outer  a  pertater  patch,  and  had  n't  ploughed 
the  sea  with  fo'sails  and  studdin'  sails  and 
them  things  cavortin'  round  her  masts." 

Abner  Nott's  enthusiasm  was  shared  by 
his  daughter,  but  with  more  imagination,  and 
an  intelligence  stimulated  by  the  scant  lit- 
erature of  her  father's  emigrant  wagon  and 
the  few  books  found  on  the  cabin  shelves. 
But  to  her  the  strange  shell  she  inhabited 
suggested  more  of  the  great  world  than  the 
rude,  chaotic  civilization  she  saw  from  the 
cabin  windows  or  met  in  the  persons  of  her 
father's  lodgers.  Shut  up  for  days  in  this 
quaint  tenement,  she  had  seen  it  change  from 
the  enchanted  playground  of  her  childish 
fancy  to  the  theatre  of  her  active  maiden- 
hood, but  without  losing  her  ideal  romance 
in  it.  She  had  translated  its  history  in  her 
own  way,  read  its  quaint  nautical  hiero- 
glyphics after  her  own  fashion,  and  pos- 
sessed herself  of  its  secrets.  She  had  in 
fancy  made  voyages  in  it  to  foreign  lands, 


104  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

had  heard  the  accents  of  a  softer  tongue  on 
its  decks,  and  on  summer  nights, -from  the 
roof  of  the  quarter-deck,  had  seen  mellower 
constellations  take  the  place  of  the  hard  me- 
tallic glitter  of  the  Californian  skies.  Some- 
times, in  her  isolation,  the  long,  cylindrical 
vault  she  inhabited  seemed,  like  some  vast 
sea- shell,  to  become  musical  with  the  mur- 
murings  of  the  distant  sea.  So  completely 
had  it  taken  the  place  of  the  usual  instincts 
of  feminine  youth  that  she  had  forgotten 
she  was  pretty,  or  that  her  dresses  were  old 
in  fashion  and  scant  in  quantity.  After  the 
first  surprise  of  admiration  her  father's  lodg- 
ers ceased  to  follow  the  abstracted  nymph 
except  with  their  eyes,  —  partly  respecting 
her  spiritual  shyness,  partly  respecting  the 
jealous  supervision  of  the  paternal  Nott. 
She  seldom  penetrated  the  crowded  centre 
of  the  growing  city ;  her  rare  excursions  were 
confined  to  the  old  ranch  at  Petaluma, 
whence  she  brought  flowers  and  plants,  and 
even  extemporized  a  hanging-garden  on  the 
quarter-deck. 


A    SHIP    OF  '49.  105 

It  was  still  raining,  and  the  wind,  which 
had  increased  to  a  gale,  was  dashing  the 
drops  against  the  slanting  cabin  windows 
with  a  sound  like  spray  when  Mr.  Abner 
Nott  sat  before  a  table  seriously  engaged 
with  his  accounts.  For  it  was  "  steamer 
night,"  —  as  that  momentous  day  of  reck- 
oning before  the  sailing  of  the  regular  mail 
steamer  was  briefly  known  to  commercial 
San  Francisco,  —  and  Mr.  Nott  was  subject 
at  such  times  to  severely  practical  relapses. 
A  swinging  light  seemed  to  bring  into 
greater  relief  that  peculiar  encased  casket- 
like  security  of  the  low-timbered,  tightly-fit- 
ting apartment,  with  its  toy-like  utilities  of 
space,  and  made  the  pretty  oval  face  of  Ro- 
sey  Nott  appear  a  characteristic  ornament. 
The  sliding  door  of  the  cabin  communicated 
with  the  main  deck,  now  roofed  in  and  parti- 
tioned off  so  as  to  form  a  small  passage  that 
led  to  the  open  starboard  gangway,  where  a 
narrow,  inclosed  staircase  built  on  the  ship's 
side  took  the  place  of  the  ship's  ladder  under 
her  counter,  and  opened  in  the  street. 


106  A  'SHIP  OF  '49. 

A  dash  of  rain  against  the  window  caused 
Rosey  to  lift  her  eyes  from  her  book. 

"  It 's  much  nicer  here  than  at  the  ranch, 
father,"  she  said  coaxingly,  "  even  leaving 
alone  its  being  a  beautiful  ship  instead  of  a 
shanty;  the  wind  don't  whistle  through  the 
cracks  and  blow  out  the  candle  when  you  're 
reading,  nor  the  rain  spoil  your  things  hung 
up  against  the  wall.  And  you  look  more 
like  a  gentleman  sitting  in  his  own  —  ship  — 
you  know,  looking  over  his  bills  and  getting 
ready  to  give  his  orders." 

Vague  and  general  as  Miss  Rosey's  com- 
pliment was,  it  had  its  full  effect  upon  her 
father,  who  was  at  times  dimly  conscious  of 
his  hopeless  rusticity  and  its  ^incongruity 
with  his  surroundings.  "  Yes,"  he  said  awk- 
wardly, with  a  slight  relaxation  of  his  ag- 
gressive attitude  ;  "  yes,  in  course  it 's  more 
bang-up  style,  but  it  don't  pay  —  Rosey  — 
it  don't  pay.  Yer  's  the  Pontiac  that  oughter 
be  bringin'  in,  ez  rents  go,  at  least  three 
hundred  a  month,  don't  make  her  taxes.  I 
bin  thinkin'  seriously  of  sellin'  her." 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  107 

As  Rosey  knew  her  father  had  experienced 
this  serious  contemplation  on  the  first  of 
every  month  for  the  last  two  years,  and 
cheerfully  ignored  it  the  next  day,  she  only 
said,  "  I  'm  sure  the  vacant  rooms  and  lofts 
are  all  rented,  father." 

"  That 's  it,"  returned  Mr.  Nott  thought- 
fully, plucking  at  his  bushy  whiskers  with 
his  fingers  and  thumb  as  if  he  were  remov- 
ing dead  and  sapless  incumbrances  in  their 
growth,  "  that 's  just  what  it  is  —  them  's  ez 
in  it  themselves  don't  pay,  and  them  ez  haz 
left  their  goods  —  the  goods  don't  pay.  The 
feller  ez  stored  them  iron  sugar  kettles  in 
the  forehold,  after  trying  to  get  me  to  make 
another  advance  on  'em,  sez  he  believes  he  '11 
have  to  sacrifice  'em  to  me  after  all,  and  only 
begs  I  'd  give  him  a  chance  of  buying  back 
the  half  of  'em  ten  years  from  now,  at  dou- 
ble what  I  advanced  him.  The  chap  that 
left  them  five  hundred  cases  of  hair  dye 
'tween  decks  and  then  skipped  out  to  Sacra- 
mento, met  me  the  other  day  in  the  street  and 


108  A   SHIP   OF  '49. 

advised  me  to  use  a  bottle  ez  an  advertise- 
ment, or  try  it  on  the  starn  of  the  Pontiac 
for  fire -proof  paint.  That  foolishness  ez  all 
he  's  good  for.  And  yet  thar  might  be 
snthin'  in  the  paint,  if  a  feller  had  nigger 
luck.  Ther  's  that  New  York  chap  ez  bought 
up  them  damaged  boxes  of  plug  terbaker  for 
fifty  dollars  a  thousand,  and  sold  'em  for 
foundations  for  that  new  building  in  San- 
some  Street  at  a  thousand  clear  profit.  It 's 
all  luck,  Rosey." 

The  girl's  eyes  had  wandered  again  to  the 
pages  of  her  book.  Perhaps  she  was  already 
familiar  with  the  text  of  her  father's  mono- 
logue. But  recognizing  an  additional  queru- 
lousness  in  his  voice,  she  laid  the-  book  aside 
and  patiently  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap. 

"That's  right  — for  I 've  suthin'  to  tell 
ye.  The  fact  is  Sleight  wants  to  buy  the 
Pontiac  out  and  out  just  ez  she  stands  with 
the  two  fifty  vara  lots  she  stands  on." 

"  Sleight  wants  to  buy  her  ?  Sleight  ?  " 
echoed  Rosey  incredulously. 


A   SHIP   OF  '49.  109 

"  You  bet !  Sleight  —  the  big  financier, 
the  smartest  man  in  'Frisco."  \ 

"  What  does  he  want  to  buy  her  for  ?  " 
asked  Rosey,  knitting  her  pretty  brows. 

The  apparently  simple  question  suddenly 
puzzled  Mr.  Nott.  He  glanced  feebly  at  his 
daughter's  face,  and  frowned  in  vacant  irri- 
tation. "  That 's  so,"  he  said,  drawing  a 
long  breath  ;  "there  's  suthin'  in  that." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  "  continued  the  young 
girl,  impatiently. 

"  Not  much.  '  You  Ve  got  the  Pontiac, 
Nott,'  sez  he.  '  You  bet ! '  sez  I.  4  What  '11 
you  take  for  her  and  the  lot  she  stands 
on  ? '  sez  he,  short  and  sharp.  Some  fellers, 
Rosey,"  said  Nott,  with  a  cunning  smile, 
"  would  hev  blurted  out  a  big  figger  and 
been  cotched.  That  ain't  my  style.  I  just 
looked  at  him.  4 1  '11  wait  fur  your  figgers 
until  next  steamer  day,'  sez  he,  and  off  he 
goes  like  a  shot.  He  's  awfully  sharp,  Ro- 
sey." 

"  But  if  he  is  sharp,  father,  and  he  really 


110  A   SHIP   OF  '49. 

wants  to  buy  the  ship,"  returned  Rosey, 
thoughtfully,  "it's  only  because  he  knows 
it 's  valuable  property,  and  not  because  he 
likes  it  as  we  do.  He  can't  take  that  value 
away  even  if  we  don't  sell  it  to  him,  and  all 
the  while  we  have  the  comfort  of  the  dear 
old  Pontiac,  don't  you  see  ?  " 

This  exhaustive  commercial  reasoning  was 
so  sympathetic  to  Mr.  Nott's  instincts  that 
he  accepted  it  as  conclusive.  He,  however, 
deemed  it  wise  to  still  preserve  his  practical 
attitude.  "  But  that  don't  make  it  pay  by 
the  month,  Rosey.  Suthin'  must  be  done. 
I  'm  thinking  I  '11  clean  out  that  photogra- 
pher." 

"  Not  just  after  he  's  taken  such  a  pretty 
view  of  the  cabin  front  of  the  Pontiac  from 
the  street,  father !  No  !  He  's  going  to 
give  us  a  copy,  and  put  the  other  in  a  shop 
window  in  Montgomery  Street." 

"  That 's  so,"  said  Mr.  Nott,  musingly ; 
"  it 's  no  slouch  of  an  advertisement.  '  The 
Pontiac,'  the  property  of  A.  Nott,  Esq.,  of 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  Ill 

St.  Jo,  Missouri.  Send  it  on  to  your  aunt 
Phoebe  ;  sorter  make  the  old  folks  open  their 
eyes  —  oh  ?  Well,  seem'  he  's  been  to  some 
expense  fittin'  up  an  entrance  from  the  other 
street,  we  '11  let  him  slide.  But  as  to  that 

d d  old  Frenchman  Ferrers,  in  the  next 

loft,  with  his  stuck-up  airs  and  high  falutin 
style,  we  must  get  quit  of  him ;  he  's  regu- 
larly gouged  me  in  that  ere  horsehair  speki- 
lation." 

"  How  can  you  say  that,  father !  "  said 
Rosey,  with  a  slight  increase  of  color.  "  It 
was  your  own  offer.  You  know  those  bales 
of  curled  horsehair  were  left  behind  by  the 
late  tenant  to  pay  his  rent.  When  Mr.  de 
Ferri£res  rented  the  room  afterwards,  you 
told  him  you  'Id  throw  them  in  in  the  place 
of  repairs  and  furniture.  It  was  your  own 
offer." 

"  Yes,  but  I  did  n't  reckon  ther  'd  ever  be 
a  big  price  per  pound  paid  for  the  darned 
stuff  for  sofys  and  cushions  and  sich." 

"  How  do  you  know  he  knew  it,  father  ?  " 
responded  Rosey. 


112  A  SHIP   OF  '49. 

"  Then  why  did  he  look  so  silly  at  first, 
and  then  put  on  airs  when  I  joked  him  about 
it,  eh?" 

"  Perhaps  he  did  n't  understand  your  jok- 
ing, father.  He 's  a  foreigner,  and  shy  and 
proud,  and  —  not  like  the  others.  I  don't 
think  he  knew  what  you  meant  then,  any 
more  than  he  believed  he  was  making  a  bar- 
gain before.  He  may  be  poor,  but  I  think 
he  's  been  —  a  —  a  —  gentleman." 

The  young  girl's  animation  penetrated 
even  Mr.  Nott's  slow  comprehension.  Her 
novel  opposition,  and  even  the  prettiness  it 
enhanced,  gave  him  a  dull  premonition  of 
pain.  His  small  round  eyes  became  ab- 
stracted, his  mouth  remained  partly  open, 
even  his  fresh  color  slightly  paled. 

"You  seem  to  have  been  takin'  stock  of 
this  yer  man,  Rosey,"  he  said,  with  a  faint 
attempt  at  archness ;  "  if  he  war  n't  ez  old  ez 
a  crow,  for  all  his  young  feathers,  I  'd  think 
he  was  makin'  up  to  you." 

But  the  passing  glow  had  faded  from  her 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  113 

young  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  wandered  again 
to  her  book.  "  He  pays  his  rent  regularly 
every  steamer  night,"  she  said,  quietly,  as  if 
dismissing  an  exhausted  subject,  "  and  he  '11 
be  here  in  a  moment,  I  dare  say."  She  took 
up  her  book,  and  leaning  her  head  on  her 
hand,  once  more  became  absorbed  in  its 
pages. 

An  uneasy  silence  followed.  The  rain  beat 
against  the  windows,  the  ticking  of  a  clock 
became  audible,  but  still  Mr.  Nott  sat  with 
vacant  eyes  fixed  on  his  daughter's  face,  and 
the  constrained  smile  on  his  lips.  He  was 
conscious  that  he  had  never  seen  her  look 
so  pretty  before,  yet  he  could  not  tell  why 
this  was  no  longer  an  unalloyed  satisfaction. 
Not  but  that  he  had  always  accepted  the 
admiration  of  others  for  her  as  a  matter  of 
course,  but  for  the  first  time  he  became  con- 
scious that  she  not  only  had  an  interest  in 
others,  but  apparently  a  superior  knowledge 
of  them.  How  did  she  know  these  things 
about  this  man,  and  why  had  she  only  now 


114  A  SHIP   OF  '49. 

accidentally  spoken  of  them?  He  would 
have  done  so.  All  this  passed  so  vaguely 
through  his  unreflective  mind,  that  he  was 
unable  to  retain  any  decided  impression,  but 
the  far-reaching  one  that  his  lodger  had  ob- 
tained some  occult  influence  over  her  through 
the  exhibition  of  his  baleful  skill  in  the  horse- 
hair speculation.  "  Them  tricks  is  likely  to 
take  a  young  girl's  fancy.  I  must  look  arter 
her,"  he  said  to  himself  softly. 

A  slow  regular  step  in  the  gangway  in- 
terrupted his  paternal  reflections.  Hastily 
buttoning  across  his  chest  the  pea-jacket 
which  he  usually  wore  at  home  as  a  single 
concession  to  his  nautical  surroundings,  he 
drew  himself  up  with  something  of  the 
assumption  of  a  ship-master,  despite  certain 
bucolic  suggestions  of  his  boots  and  legs. 
The  footsteps  approached  nearer,  and  a  tall 
figure  suddenly  stood  in  the  doorway. 

It  was  a  figure  so  extraordinary  that  even 
in  the  strange  masquerade  of  that  early  civ- 
ilization it  was  remarkable ;  a  figure  with 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  115 

whom  father  and  daughter  were  already 
familiar  without  abatement  of  wonder  —  the 
figure  of  a  rejuvenated  old  man,  padded, 
powdered,  dyed,  and  painted  to  the  verge  of 
caricature,  but  without  a  single  suggestion 
of  ludicrousness  or  humor.  A  face  so  arti- 
ficial that  it  seemed  almost  a  mask,  but,  like 
a  mask,  more  pathetic  than  amusing.  He 
was  dressed  in  the  extreme  of  fashion  of  a 
dozen  years  before  ;  his  pearl  gray  trousers 
strapped  tightly  over  his  varnished  boots, 
his  voluminous  satin  cravat  and  high  collar 
embraced  his  rouged  cheeks  and  dyed  whis- 
kers, his  closely-buttoned  frock  coat  clinging 
to  a  waist  that  seemed  accented  by  stays. 

He  advanced  two  steps  into  the  cabin  with 
an  upright  precision  of  motion  that  might 
have  hid  the  infirmities  of  age,  and  said 
deliberately  with  a  foreign  accent :  — 

"  You-r-r  ac-coumpt  ?  " 

In  the  actual  presence  of  the  apparition 
Mr.  Nott's  dignified  resistance  wavered.  But 
glancing  uneasily  at  his  daughter  and  seeing 


116  A   SHIP   OF  '49. 

her  calm  eyes  fixed  on  the  speaker  without 
embarrassment,  he  folded  his  arms  stiffly, 
and  with  a  lofty  simulation  of  examining  the 
ceiling,  said,  — 

"  Ahem  !  Rosa  !  The  gentleman's  ac- 
count." 

It  was  an  infelicitous  action.  For  the 
stranger,  who  evidently  had  not  noticed  the 
presence  of  the  young  girl  before,  started, 
took  a  step  quickly  forward,  bent  stiffly  but 
profoundly  over  the  little  hand  that  held 
the  account,  raised  it  to  his  lips,  and  with 
"  a  thousand  pardons,  mademoiselle,"  laid  a 
small  canvas  bag  containing  the  rent  before 
the  disorganized  Mr.  Nott  and  stiffly  van- 
ished. 

That  night  was  a  troubled  one  to  the 
simple-minded  proprietor  of  the  good  ship 
Pontiac.  Unable  to  voice  his  uneasiness  by 
further  discussion,  but  feeling  that  his  late 
discomposing  interview  with  his  lodger  de- 
manded some  marked  protest,  he  absented 
himself  on  the  plea  of  business  during  the 


A   SHIP   OF  '49.  117 

rest  of  the  evening,  happily  to  his  daughter's 
utter  obliviousness  of  the  reason.  Lights 
were  burning  brilliantly  in  counting-rooms 
and  offices,  the  feverish  life  of  the  mercantile 
city  was  at  its  height.  With  a  vague  idea 
of  entering  into  immediate  negotiations  with 
Mr.  Sleight  for  the  sale  of  the  ship  —  as  a 
direct  way  out  of  his  present  perplexity,  he 
bent  his  steps  towards  the  financier's  office, 
but  paused  and  turned  back  before  reaching 
the  door.  He  made  his  way  to  the  wharf 
and  gazed  abstractedly  at  the  lights  reflected 
in  the  dark,  tremulous,  jelly-like  water.  But 
wherever  he  went  he  was  accompanied  by 
the  absurd  figure  of  his  lodger  —  a  figure 
he  had  hitherto  laughed  at  or  half  pitied, 
but  which  now,  to  his  bewildered  comprehen- 
sion, seemed  to  have  a  fateful  significance. 
Here  a  new  idea  seized  him,  and  he  hurried 
back  to  the  ship,  slackening  his  pace  only 
when  he  arrived  as  his  own  doorway.  Here 
he  paused  a  moment  and  slowly  ascended 
the  staircase.  When  he  reached  the  pas- 


118  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

sage  he  coughed  slightly  and  paused  again. 
Then  he  pushed  open  the  door  of  the  dark- 
ened cabin  and  called  softly  :  — 

"  Eosey !  " 

"  What  is  it,  father  ?  "  said  Rosey's  voice 
from  the  little  state-room  on  the  right  — 
Rosey's  own  bower. 

"  Nothing ! "  said  Mr.  Nott,  with  an  affec- 
tation of  languid  calmness  ;  "  I  only  wanted 
to  know  if  you  was  comfortable.  It 's  an 
awful  busy  night  in  town." 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  I  reckon  thar  's  tons  o'  gold  goin'  to  the 
States  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  Pretty  comfortable,  eh  ?  " 

"Yes,  father." 

"  Well,  I  '11  browse  round  a  spell,  and 
turn  in  myself,  soon." 

"Yes,  father." 

Mr.  Nott  took  down  a  hanging  lantern, 
lit  it,  and  passed  out  into  the  gangway.  An- 
other lamp  hung  from  the  companion  hatch 


A   SHIP   OF  '49.  119 

to  light  the  tenants  to  the  lower  deck,  whence 
he  descended.  This  deck  was  divided  fore 
and  aft  by  a  partitioned  passage,  —  the  lofts 
or  apartments  being  lighted  from  the  ports, 
and  one  or  two  by  a  door  cut  through  the 
ship's  side  communicating  with  an  alley  on 
either  side.  This  was  the  case  with  the  loft 
occupied  by  Mr.  Nott's  strange  lodger,  which, 
besides  a  door  in  the  passage,  had  this  inde- 
pendent communication  with  the  alley.  Nott 
had  never  known  him  to  make  use  of  the 
latter  door  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  his  reg- 
ular habit  to  issue  from  his  apartment  at 
three  o'clock  every  afternoon,  dressed  as 
he  has  been  described,  stride  deliberately 
through  the  passage  to  the  upper  deck  and 
thence  into  the  street,  where  his  strange  fig- 
ure was  a  feature  of  the  principal  promenade 
for  two  or  three  hours,  returning  as  regu- 
larly at  eight  o'clock  to  the  ship  and  the 
seclusion  of  his  loft.  Mr.  Nott  paused  be- 
fore the  door,  under  the  pretence  of  throw- 
ing the  light  before  him  into  the  shadows  of 


120  A   SHIP   OF  '49. 

the  forecastle ;  all  was  silent  within.  He 
was  turning  back  when  he  was  impressed  by 
the  regular  recurrence  of  a  peculiar  rustling 
sound  which  he  had  at  first  referred  to  the 
rubbing  of  the  wires  of  the  swinging  lantern 
against  his  clothing.  He  set  down  the  light 
and  listened  ;  the  sound  was  evidently  on 
the  other  side  of  the  partition ;  the  sound  of 
some  prolonged,  rustling,  scraping  move- 
ment, with  regular  intervals.  Was  it  due 
to  another  of  Mr.  Nott's  unprofitable  tenants 
—  the  rats  ?  No.  A  bright  idea  flashed  upon 
Mr.  Nott's  troubled  mind.  It  was  de  Fer- 
rieres  snoring !  He  smiled  grimly.  "  Wonder 
if  Rosey  'd  call  him  a  gentleman  if  she  heard 
that,"  he  chuckled  to  himself  as.  he  slowly 
made  his  way  back  to  the  cabin  and  the 
small  state-room  opposite  to  his  daughter's. 
During  the  rest  of  the  night  he  dreamed  of 
being  compelled  to  give  Rosey  in  marriage 
to  his  strange  lodger,  who  added  insult  to 
the  outrage  by  snoring  audibly  through  the 
marriage  service. 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  121 

Meantime,  in  her  cradle-like  nest  in  her 
nautical  bower,  Miss  Rosey  slumbered  as 
lightly.  Waking  from  a  vivid  dream  of 
Venice  —  a  child's  Venice  —  seen  from  the 
swelling  deck  of  the  proudly-riding  Pontiac, 
she  was  so  impressed  as  to  rise  and  cross 
on  tiptoe  to  the  little  slanting  port -hole. 
Morning  was  already  dawning  over  the  flat, 
straggling  city,  but  from  every  counting- 
house  and  magazine  the  votive  tapers  of  the 
feverish  worshipers  of  trade  and  mammon 
were  still  flaring  fiercely. 


II. 


The  day  following  "  steamer  night "  was 
usually  stale  and  flat  at  San  Francisco.  The 
reaction  from  the  feverish  exaltation  of  the 
previous  twenty-four  hours  was  seen  in  the 
listless  faces  and  lounging  feet  of  promenad- 
ers,  and  was  notable  in  the  deserted  offices 
and  warehouses  still  redolent  of  last  night's 


122  A  SHIP   OF  '49. 

gas,  and  strewn  with  the  dead  ashes  of  last 
night's  fires.  There  was  a  brief  pause  be- 
fore the  busy  life  which  ran  its  course  from 
"steamer  day"  to  steamer  day  was  once 
more  taken  up.  In  that  interval  a  few  anx- 
ious speculators  and  investors  breathed 
freely,  some  critical  situation  was  relieved, 
or  some  impending  catastrophe  momentarily 
averted.  In  particular,  a  singular  stroke  of 
good  fortune  that  morning  befell  Mr.  Nott. 
He  not  only  secured  a  new  tenant,  but,  as 
he  sagaciously  believed,  introduced  into  the 
Pontiac  a  counteracting  influence  to  the  sub- 
tle fascinations  of  de  Ferrieres. 

The  new  tenant  apparently  possessed  a 
combination  of  business  shrewdness  and 
brusque  frankness  that  strongly  impressed 
his  landlord.  "  You  see,  Rosey,"  said  Nott, 
complacently  describing  the  interview  to  his 
daughter,  "when  I  sorter  intimated  in  a 
keerless  kind  o'  way  that  sugar  kettles  and 
hair  dye  was  about  played  out  ez  securities, 
he  just  planked  down  the  money  for  two 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  123 

months  in  advance.  '  There,'  sez  he,  '  that 's 
your  security  —  now  where  's  mine V  'I 
reckon  I  don't  hitch  on,  pardner,'  sez  I ; 
'  security  what  for  ? '  '  'Spose  you  sell  the 
ship  ?  '  sez  he,  '  afore  the  two  months  is  up. 
I  've  heard  that  old  Sleight  wants  to  buy 
her.'  'Then  you  gets  back  your  money,' 
sez  I.  'And  lose  my  room,'  sez  he;  'not 
much,  old  man.  You  sign  a  paper  that  who- 
ever buys  the  ship  inside  o'  two  months  hez 
to  buy  me  ez  a  tenant  with  it ;  that 's  on  the 
square.'  So  I  sign  the  paper.  It  was 
mighty  cute  in  the  young  feller,  was  n't  it  ?  " 
he  said,  scanning  his  daughter's  pretty  puz- 
zled face  a  little  anxiously ;  "  and  don't  you 
see  ez  I  ain't  goin'  to  sell  the  Pontiac,  it 's 
just  about  ez  cute  in  me,  eh  ?  He  's  a  con- 
tractor somewhere  around  yer,  and  wants  to 
be  near  his  work.  So  he  takes  the  room  next 
to  the  Frenchman,  that  that  ship  captain 
quit  for  the  mines,  and  succeeds  naterally  to 
his  chest  and  things.  He  's  mighty  peart- 
looking,  that  young  feller,  Rosey — long  black 


124  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

moustaches,  all  his  own  color,  Rosey —  and 
he 's  a  regular  high-stepper,  you  bet.  I 
reckon  he 's  not  only  been  a  gentleman,  but 
ez  now.  -Some  o'  them,  contractors  are  very 
high-toned ! " 

"  I  don't  think  we  have  any  right  to  give 
him  the  captain's  chest,  father,"  said  Eosey ; 
"there  may  be  some  private  things  in  it. 
There  were  some  letters  and  photographs  in 
the  hair-dye  man's  trunk  that  you  gave  the 
photographer." 

"  That 's  just  it,  Rosey,"  returned  Abner 
Nott  with  sublime  unconsciousness,  "  photo- 
graphs and  love  letters  you  can't  sell  for 
cash,  and  I  don't  mind  givin'  'em  away,  if 
they  kin  make  a  feller  creature  happy." 

"  But,  father,  have  we  the  right  to  give 
'em  away  ?  " 

"  They  're  collateral  security,  Rosey," 
said  her  father  grimly.  "  Co-la-te-ral,"  he 
continued,  emphasizing  each  syllable  by  tap- 
ping the  fist  of  one  hand  in  the  open  palm 
of  the  other.  "  Co-la-te-ral  is  the  word  the 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  125 

big  business  sharps  yer  about  call  'em.  You 
can't  get  round  that."  He  paused  a  mo- 
ment, and  then,  as  a  new  idea  seemed  to  be 
painfully  borne  in  his  round  eyes,  continued 
cautiously :  "  Was  that  the  reason  why  you 
would  n't  touch  any  of  them  dresses  from  the 
trunks  of  that  opery  gal  ez  skedaddled  for 
Sacramento  ?  And  yet  them  trunks  I  reg- 
ularly bought  at  auction  —  Rosey  —  at  auc- 
tion, on  spec  —  and  they  did  n't  realize  the 
cost  of  drayage." 

A  slight  color  mounted  to  Rosey's  face. 
"  No,"  she  said,  hastily,  "  not  that."  Hesi- 
tating a  moment  she  then  drew  softly  to  hiss 
side,  and,  placing  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
turned  his  broad,  foolish  face  towards  her 
own.  u  Father,"  she  began,  "  when  mother 
died,  would  you  have  liked  anybody  to  take 
her  trunks  and  paw  round  her  things  and 
wear  them  ?  " 

"  When  your  mother  died,  just  this  side 
o'  Sweetwater,  Rosey,"  said  Mr.  Nott,  with 
beaming  unconsciousness,  "  she  had  n  't  any 


126  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

trunks.  I  reckon  she  had  n't  even  an  extra 
gown  hanging  up  in  the  wagin,  'cept  the 
petticoat  ez  she  had  wrapped  around  yer. 
It  was  about  ez  much  ez  we  could  do  to 
skirmish  round  with  Injins,  alkali,  and  cold, 
and  we  sorter  forgot  to  dress  for  dinner. 
She  never  thought,  Rosey,  that  you  and  me 
would  live  to  be  inhabitin'  a  paliss  of  a  real 
ship.  Ef  she  had  she  would  have  died  a 
proud  woman." 

He  turned  his  small,  loving,  boar-like  eyes 
upon  her  as  a  preternaturally  innocent  and 
trusting  companion  of  Ulysses  might  have 
regarded  the  transforming  Circe.  Rosey 
turned  away  with  the  faintest  sigh.  The 
habitual  look  of  abstraction  returned  to  her 
eyes  as  if  she  had  once  more  taken  refuge  in 
her  own  ideal  world.  Unfortunately  the 
change  did  not  escape  either  the  sensitive 
observation  or  the  fatuous  misconception  of 
the  sagacious  parent.  "  Ye  '11  be  mountin' 
a  few  furbelows  and  fixins,  Rosey,  I  reckon, 
ez  only  natural.  Mebbee  ye  '11  have  to  prink 


A  SHIP  OF  >49.  127 

up  a  little  now  that  we  've  got  a  gentleman 
contractor  in  the  ship.  I  '11  see  what  I  kin 
pick  up  in  Montgomery  Street."  And  in- 
deed he  succeeded  a  few  hours  later  in  ac- 
complishing with  equal  infelicity  his  gener- 
ous design.  When  she  returned  from  her 
household  tasks  she  found  on  her  berth  a 
purple  velvet  bonnet  of  extraordinary  make, 
and  a  pair  of  white  satin  slippers.  "  They  '11 
do  for  a  start  off,  Rosey,"  he  explained, 
"  and  I  got  'em  at  my  figgers." 

"  But  I  go  out  so  seldom,  father,  and  a 
bonnet "  — 

"  That 's  so,"  interrupted  Mr.  Nott,  com- 
placently, "  it  might  be  jest  ez  well  for  a 
young  gal  like  yer  to  appear  ez  if  she  did 
go  out,  or  would  go  out  if  she  wanted  to.  So 
you  kin  be  wearin'  that  ar  headstall  kinder 
like  this  evening  when  the  contractor 's  here, 
ez  if  you  'd  jest  come  in  from  a  pasear." 

Miss  Rosey  did  not  however  immediately 
avail  herself  of  her  father's  purchase,  but 
contented  herself  with  the  usual  scarlet  rib- 


128  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

bon  that  like  a  snood  confined  her  brown 
hair,  when  she  returned  to  her  tasks.  The 
space  between  the  galley  and  the  bulwarks 
had  been  her  favorite  resort  in  summer  when 
not  actually  engaged  in  household  work.  It 
was  now  lightly  roofed  over  with  boards  and 
tarpaulin  against  the  winter  rain,  but  still 
afforded  her  a  veranda -like  space  before 
the  galley  door,  where  she  could  read  or 
sew,  looking  over  the  bow  of  the  Pontiac  to 
the  tossing  bay  or  the  further  range  of  the 
Contra  Costa  hills. 

Hither  Miss  Rosey  brought  the  purple 
prodigy,  partly  to  please  her  father,  partly 
with  a  view  of  subjecting  it  to  violent  rad- 
ical changes.  But  after  trying  it  on  before 
the  tiny  mirror  in  the  galley  once  or  twice, 
her  thoughts  wandered  away,  and  she  fell 
into  one  of  her  habitual  reveries  seated  on  a 
little  stool  before  the  galley  door. 

She  was  roused  from  it  by  the  slight  shak- 
ing and  rattling  of  the  doors  of  a  small  hatch 
on  the  deck,  not  a  dozen  yards  from  where 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  129 

she  sat.  It  had  been  evidently  fastened  from 
below  during  the  wet  weather,  but  as  she 
gazed,  the  fastenings  were  removed,  the  doors 
were  suddenly  lifted,  and  the  head  and  shoul- 
ders of  a  young  man  emerged  from  the  deck. 
Partly  from  her  father's  description,  and 
partly  from  the  impossibility  of  its  being 
anybody  else,  she  at  once  conceived  it  to  be 
the  new  lodger.  She  had  time  to  note  that 
he  was  young  and  good-looking,  graver  per- 
haps than  became  his  sudden  pantomimic 
appearance,  but  before  she  could  observe  him 
closely,  he  had  turned,  closed  the  hatch  with 
a  certain  familiar  dexterity,  and  walked 
slowly  towards  the  bows.  Even  in  her  slight 
bewilderment,  she  observed  that  his  step  upon 
the  deck  seemed  different  to  her  father's  or 
the  photographer's,  and  that  he  laid  his  hand 
on  various  objects  with  a  half-caressing  ease 
and  habit.  Presently  he  paused  and  turned 
back,  and  glancing  at  the  galley  door  for  the 
first  time  encountered  her  wondering  eyes. 
It  seemed  so  evident  that  she  had  been  a 


130  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

curious  spectator  of  his  abrupt  entrance  on 
deck  that  he  was  at  first  disconcerted  and 
confused.  But  after  a  second  glance  at  her 
he  appeared  to  resume  his  composure,  and 
advanced  a  little  defiantly  towards  the  gal- 
ley. 

"  I  suppose  I  frightened  you,  popping  up 
the  fore  hatch  just  now  ?  " 

"  The  what  ?  "  asked  Rosey. 

"  The  fore  hatch,"  he  repeated  impatiently, 
indicating  it  with  a  gesture. 

"And  that's  the  fore  hatch?"  she  said 
abstractedly.  "  You  seem  to  know  ships." 

"Yes  —  a  little,"  he  said  quietly.  "I 
was  below,  and  unfastened  the  hatch  to  come 
up  the  quickest  way  and  take  a  look  round. 
I  've  just  hired  a  room  here,"  he  added  ex- 
planatorily. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Rosey  simply ; 
"  you  're  the  contractor  ?  " 

"  The  contractor  !  —  oh,  yes !  You  seem 
to  know  it  all." 

"  Father  's  told  me." 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  131 

"Oh,  he's  your  father — Nott?  Cer- 
tainly. I  see  now,"  he  continued,  looking 
at  her  with  a  half  repressed  smile.  "  Cer- 
tainly, Miss  Nott,  good  morning,"  he  half 
added  and  walked  towards  the  companion 
way.  Something  in  the  direction  of  his  eyes 
as  he  turned  away  made  Rosey  lift  her 
hands  to  her  head.  She  had  forgotten  to 
remove  her  father's  baleful  gift. 

She  snatched  it  off  and  ran  quickly  to  the 
companion  way. 

"  Sir  !  "  she  called. 

The  young  man  turned  half  way  down  the 
steps  and  looked  up.  There  was  a  faint 
color  in  her  cheeks,  and  her  pretty  brown 
hair  was  slightly  disheveled  from  the  hasty 
removal  of  the  bonnet. 

"  Father 's  very  particular  about  strangers 
being  on  this  deck,"  she  said  a  little  sharply. 

"  Oh  —  ah  —  I  'm  sorry  I  intruded." 

"I  — I  — thought  I'd  tell  you,"  said  Ro- 
sey,  frightened  by  her  boldness  into  a  feeble 
anti-climax. 


132  A  SHIP  OF  >49. 

"  Thank  you." 

She  came  back  slowly  to  the  galley  and 
picked  up  the  unfortunate  bonnet  with  a 
slight  sense  of  remorse.  Why  should  she 
feel  angry  with  her  poor  father's  unhappy 
offering?  And  what  business  had  this 
strange  young  man  to  use  the  ship  so  famil- 
iarly ?  Yet  she  was  vaguely  conscious  that 
she  and  her  father,  with  all  their  love  and 
their  domestic  experience  of  it,  lacked  a  cer- 
tain instinctive  ease  in  its  possession  that 
the  half  indifferent  stranger  had  shown  on 
first  treading  its  deck.  She  walked  to  the 
hatchway  and  examined  it  with  a  new  inter- 
est. Succeeding  in  lifting  the  hatch,  she 
gazed  at  the  lower  deck.  As  -she  already 
knew  the  ladder  had  long  since  been  removed 
to  make  room  for  one  of  the  partitions,  the 
only  way  the  stranger  could  have  reached  it 
was  by  leaping  to  one  of  the  rings.  To  make 
sure  of  this  she  let  herself  down  holding  on 
to  the  rings,  and  dropped  a  couple  of  feet  to 
the  deck  below.  She  was  in  the  narrow 


A  SHIP   OF  '49.  133 

passage  her  father  had  penetrated  the  pre- 
vious night.  Before  her  was  the  door  leading 
to  de  Ferridres's  loft,  always  locked.  It  was 
silent  within ;  it  was  the  hour  when  the  old 
Frenchman  made  his  habitual  promenade  in 
the  city.  But  the  light  from  the  newly- 
opened  hatch  allowed  her  to  see  more  of  the 
mysterious  recesses  of  the  forward  bulkhead 
than  she  had  known  before,  and  she  was 
startled  by  observing  another  yawning  hatch- 
way at  her  feet  from  which  the  closely-fitting 
door  had  been  lifted,  and  which  the  new 
lodger  had  evidently  forgotten  to  close  again. 
The  young  girl  stooped  down  and  peered 
cautiously  into  the  black  abyss.  Nothing 
was  to  be  seen,  nothing  heard  but  the  distant 
gurgle  and  click  of  water  in  some  remoter 
depth.  She  replaced  the  hatch  and  returned 
by  way  of  the  passage  to  the  cabin. 

When  her  father  came  home  that  night 
she  briefly  recounted  the  interview  with  the 
new  lodger,  and  her  discovery  of  his  curios- 
ity. She  did  this  with  a  possible  increase 


134  A  SHIP  OF  >49. 

of  her  usual  shyness  and  abstraction,  and 
apparently  more  as  a  duty  than  a  colloquial 
recreation.  But  it  pleased  Mr.  Nott  also 
to  give  it  more  than  his  usual  misconception. 
"  Looking  round  the  ship,  was  he  —  eh, 
Rosey?"  he  said  with  infinite  archness. 
"  In  course,  kinder  sweepin'  round  the  gal- 
ley, and  offerin*  to  fetch  you  wood  and 
water,  eh  ? "  Even  when  the  young  girl 
had  picked  up  her  book  with  the  usual  faint 
smile  of  affectionate  tolerance,  and  then 
drifted  away  in  its  pages,  Mr.  Nott  chuckled 
audibly.  "  I  reckon  old  Frenchy  did  n't  come 
by  when  the  young  one  was  bedevlin'  you 
there." 

"What,  father?"  said  Rosy,  ^lifting  her 
abstracted  eyes  to  his  face. 

At  the  moment  it  seemed  impossible  that 
any  human  intelligence  could  have  suspected 
deceit  or  duplicity  in  Rosey's  clear  gaze. 
But  Mr.  Nott's  intelligence  was  superhuman. 
"I  was  sayin'  that  Mr.  Ferrieres  didn't 
happen  in  while  the  young  feller  was  there 
—  eh?" 


A   SHIP   OF  '49.  135 

"No,  father,"  answered  Rosey,  with  an 
effort  to  follow  him  out  of  the  pages  of  her 
book.  "Why?" 

But  Mr.  Nott  did  not  reply.  Later  in 
the  evening  he  awkwardly  waylaid  the  new 
lodger  before  the  cabin  door  as  that  gentle- 
man would  have  passed  on  to  his  room. 

"  I  'm  afraid,"  said  the  young  man,  glanc- 
ing at  Rosey,  "  that  I  intruded  upon  your 
daughter  to-day.  I  was  a  little  curious  to 
see  the  old  ship,  and  I  did  n't  know  what 
part  of  it  was  private." 

"  There  ain't  no  private  part  to  this  yer 
ship  —  that  ez,  'cepting  the  rooms  and  lofts," 
said  Mr.  Nott,  authoritatively.  Then,  sub- 
jecting the  anxious  look  of  his  daughter  to 
his  usual  faculty  for  misconception,  he  added, 
"  Thar  ain't  no  place  whar  you  have  n't  as 
much  right  to  go  ez  any  other  man ;  thar 
ain't  any  man,  furriner  or  Amerykan,  young 
or  old,  dyed  or  undyed,  ez  hev  got  any  better 
rights.  You  hear  me,  young  fellow.  Mr. 
Renshaw  —  my  darter.  My  darter  —  Mr. 


136  A  SHIP  OF  <49. 

Renshaw.  Rosey,  give  the  gentleman  a  chair. 
She  's  only  jest  come  in  from  a  promeynade, 
and  hez  jest  taken  off  her  bonnet,"  he  added, 
with  an  arch  look  at  Rosey,  and  a  hurried 
look  around  the  cabin,  as  if  he  hoped  to  see 
the  missing  gift  visible  to  the  general  eye. 
"  So  take  a  seat  a  minit,  won't  ye  ?  " 

But  Mr.  Renshaw,  after  an  observant 
glance  at  the  young  girl's  abstracted  face, 
brusquely  excused  himself.  "  I  've  got  a 
letter  to  write,"  he  said,  with  a  half  bow  to 
Rosey.  "  Good  night." 

He  crossed  the  passage  to  the  room  that 
had  been  assigned  to  him,  and  closing  the 
door  gave  way  to  some  irritability  of  tem- 
per in  his  efforts  to  light  the  lamp  and  ad- 
just his  writing  materials.  For  his  excuse  to 
Mr.  Nott  was  more  truthful  than  most  polite 
pretexts.  He  had,  indeed,  a  letter  to  write, 
and  one  that,  being  yet  young  in  duplicity, 
the  near  presence  of  his  host  rendered  diffi- 
cult. For  it  ran  as  follows  :  — 


A   SHIP   OF  '49.  187 

"DEAR  SLEIGHT, 

"  As  I  found  I  could  n't  get  a  chance  to 
make  any  examination  of  the  ship  except  as 
occasion  offered,  I  just  went  in  to  rent  lodg- 
ings in  her  from  the  God-forsaken  old  ass 
who  owns  her,  and  here  I  am  a  tenant  for 
two  months.  I  contracted  for  that  time  in 
case  the  old  fool  should  sell  out  to  some  one 
else  before.  Except  that  she  's  cut  up  a  little 
between  decks  by  the  partitions  for  lofts 
that  that  Pike  County  idiot  has  put  into  her, 
she  looks  but  little  changed,  and  her  fore- 
hold,  as  far  as  I  can  judge,  is  intact.  It  seems 
that  Nott  bought  her  just  as  she  stands,  with 
her  cargo  half  out,  but  he  was  n't  here  when 
she  broke  cargo.  If  anybody  else  had  bought 
her  but  this  cursed  Missourian,  who  has  n't 
got  the  hayseed  out  of  his  hair,  I  might  have 
found  out  something  from  him,  and  saved 
myself  this  kind  of  fooling,  which  isn't  in 
my  line.  If  I  could  get  possession  of  a  loft 
on  the  main  deck,  well  forward,  just  over 
the  fore-hold,  I  could  satisfy  myself  in  a  few 


138  A   SHIP   OF  '49. 

hours,  but  the  loft  is  rented  by  that  crazy 
Frenchman  who  parades  JMontgomery  Street 
every  afternoon,  and  though  old  Pike  County 
wants  to  turn  him  out,  I  'm  afraid  I  can't 
get  it  for  a  week  to  come. 

"  If  anything  should  happen  to  me,  just 
you  waltz  down  here  and  corral  my  things 
at  once,  for  this  old  frontier  pirate  has  a 
way  of  confiscating  his  lodgers'  trunks. 

"Yours,  DICK." 


in. 

If  Mr.  Renshaw  indulged  in  any  further 
curiosity  regarding  the  interior  of  the  Pon- 
tiac,  he  did  not  make  his  active  researches 
manifest  to  Rosey.  Nor,  in  spite  of  her 
father's  invitation,  did  he  again  approach 
the  galley  —  a  fact  which  gave  her  her  first 
vague  impression  in  his  favor.  He  seemed 
also  to  avoid  the  various  advances  which 
Mr.  Nott  appeared  impelled  to  make,  when- 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  139 

ever  they  met  in  the  passage,  but  did  so 
without  seemingly  avoiding  her,  and  marked 
his  half  contemptuous  indifference  to  the 
elder  Nott  by  an  increase  of  respect  to  the 
young  girl.  She  would  have  liked  to  ask 
him  something  about  ships,  and  was  sure 
his  conversation  would  have  been  more  in- 
teresting than  that  of  old  Captain  Bower, 
to  whose  cabin  he  had  succeeded,  who  had 
once  told  her  a  ship  was  the  "  devil's  hen- 
coop." She  would  have  liked  also  to  ex- 
plain to  him  that  she  was  not  in  the  habit  of 
wearing  a  purple  bonnet.  But  her  thoughts 
were  presently  engrossed  by  an  experience 
which  interrupted  the  even  tenor  of  her 
young  life. 

She  had  been,  as  she  afterwards  remem- 
bered, impressed  with  a  nervous  restlessness 
one  afternoon,  which  made  it  impossible  for 
her  to  perform  her  ordinary  household  duties, 
or  even  to  indulge  her  favorite  recreation 
of  reading  or  castle  building.  She  wandered 
over  the  ship,  and,  impelled  by  the  same 


140  A  SHIP  OF  >49. 

vague  feeling  of  unrest,  descended  to  the 
lower  deck  and  the  forward  bulkhead  where 
she  had  discovered  the  open  hatch.  It  had 
not  been  again  disturbed,  nor  was  there 
any  trace  of  further  exploration.  A  little 
ashamed,  she  knew  not  why,  of  revisiting  the 
scene  of  Mr.  Renshaw's  researches,  she  was 
turning  back  when  she  noticed  that  the  door 
which  communicated  with  de  Ferrieres's  loft 
was  partly  open.  The  circumstance  was  so 
unusual  that  she  stopped  before  it  in  sur- 
prise. There  was  no  sound  from  within ;  it 
was  the  hour  when  its  queer  occupant  was 
always  absent ;  he  must  have  forgotten  to 
lock  the  door  or  it  had  been  unfastened  by 
other  hands.  After  a  moment  of\  hesitation 
she  pushed  it  further  open  and  stepped  into 
the  room. 

By  the  dim  light  of  two  port-holes  she 
could  see  that  the  floor  was  strewn  and  piled 
with  the  contents  of  a  broken  bale  of  curled 
horse  hair,  of  which  a  few  untouched  bales 
still  remained  against  the  wall.  A  heap  of 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  141 

morocco  skins,  some  already  cut  in  the  form 
of  chair  cushion  covers,  and  a  few  cushions 
unfinished  and  unstuffed  lay  in  the  light  of 
the  ports,  and  gave  the  apartment  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  cheap  workshop.  A  rude  in- 
strument for  combing  the  horse  hair,  awls, 
buttons,  and  thread  heaped  on  a  small  bench 
showed  that  active  work  had  been  but  re- 
cently interrupted.  A  cheap  earthenware 
ewer  and  basin  on  the  floor,  and  a  pallet 
made  of  an  open  bale  of  horse  hair,  on  which 
a*  ragged  quilt  and  blanket  were  flung,  in- 
dicated that  the  solitary  worker  dwelt  and 
slept  beside  his  work. 

The  truth  flashed  upon  the  young  girl's 
active  brain,  quickened  by  seclusion  and  fed 
by  solitary  books.  She  read  with  keen  eyes 
the  miserable  secret  of  her  father's  strange 
guest  in  the  poverty-stricken  walls,  in  the 
mute  evidences  of  menial  handicraft  per- 
formed in  loneliness  and  privation,  in  this 
piteous  adaptation  of  an  accident  to  save  the 
conscious  shame  of  premeditated  toil.  She 


142  A  SHIP    OF  '49. 

knew  now  why  he  had  stammeringly  refused 
to  receive  her  father's  offer  to  buy  back  the 
goods  he  had  given  him ;  she  knew  now  how 
hardly  gained  was  the  pittance  that  paid  his 
rent  and  supported  his  childish  vanity  and 
grotesque  pride.  From  a  peg  in  the  corner 
hung  the  familiar  masquerade  that  hid  his 
poverty  —  the  pearl-gray  trousers,  the  black 
frock  coat,  the  tall  shining  hat  —  in  hideous 
contrast  to  the  penury  of  his  surroundings. 
But  if  they  were  here,  where  was  he,  and  in 
what  new  disguise  had  he  escaped  from  bis 
poverty  ?  A  vague  uneasiness  caused  her  to 
hesitate  and  return  to  the  open  door.  She 
had  nearly  reached  it  when  her  eye  fell  on 
the  pallet  which  it  partly  illuminated.  A 
singular  resemblance  in  the  ragged  heap 
made  her  draw  closer.  The  faded  quilt  was 
a  dressing-gown,  and  clutching  its  folds  lay 
a  white,  wasted  hand. 

The  emigrant  childhood  of  Rose  Nott  had 
been  more  than  once  shadowed  by  scalping 
knives,  and  sjpe  was  acquainted  with  Death. 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  143 

She  went  fearlessly  to  the  couch,  and  found 
that  the  dressing-gown  was  only  an  en- 
wrapping of  the  emaciated  and  lifeless  body 
of  de  Ferri£res.  She  did  not  retreat  or  call 
for  help,  but  examined  him  closely.  He  was 
unconscious,  but  not  pulseless  ;  he  had  evi- 
dently been  strong  enough  to  open  the  door 
for  air  or  succor,  but  had  afterward  fallen  in 
a  fit  on  the  couch.  She  flew  to  her  father's 
locker  and  the  galley  fire,  returned,  and  shut 
the  door  behind  her,  and  by  the  skillful  use 
of  hot  water  and  whiskey  soon  had  the  satis- 
faction of  seeing  a  faint  color  take  the  place 
of  the  faded  rouge  in  the  ghastly  cheeks. 
She  was  still  chafing  his  hands  when  he 
slowly  opened  his  eyes.  With  a  start,  he 
made  a  quick  attempt  to  push  aside  her 
hands  and  rise.  But  she  gently  restrained 
him. 

"  Eh  — what !  "  he  stammered,  throwing 
his  face  back  from  hers  with  an  effort  and 
trying  to  turn  it  to  the  wall. 

"You  have  been  ill,"  she  said  quietly. 
*  Drink  this." 


144  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

With  his  face  still  turned  away  he  lifted 
the  cup  to  his  chattering  teeth.  When  he 
had  drained  it  he  threw  a  trembling  glance 
around  the  room  and  at  the  door. 

"  There 's  no  one  been  here  but  myself," 
she  said  quickly.  "  I  happened  to  see  the 
door  open  as  I  passed.  I  did  n't  think  it 
worth  while  to  call  any  one." 

The  searching  look  he  gave  her  turned 
into  an  expression  of  relief,  which,  to  her 
infinite  uneasiness,  again  feebly  lightened 
into  one  of  antiquated  gallantry.  He  drew 
the  dressing-gown  around  him  with  an  air. 

"  Ah  !  it  is  a  goddess,  Mademoiselle,  that 
has  deigned  to  enter  the  cell  where  —  where 
—  I  —  amuse  myself.  It  is  droll  —  is  it 
not  ?  I  came  here  to  make  —  what  you  call 
— the  experiment  of  your  father's  fabric.  I 
make  myself  —  ha !  ha !  —  like  a  workman. 
Ah,  bah !  the  heat,  the  darkness,  the  ple- 
beian motion  make  my  head  to  go  round.  I 
stagger,  I  faint,  I  cry  out,  I  fall.  But  what 
of  that  ?  The  great  God  hears  my  cry  and 
sends  me  an  angel.  Voild  I " 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  145 

He  attempted  an  easy  gesture  of  gallantry, 
but  overbalanced  himself  and  fell  sideways 
on  the  pallet  with  a  gasp.  Yet  there  was  so 
much  genuine  feeling  mixed  with  his  gro- 
tesque affectation,  so  much  piteous  conscious- 
ness of  the  ineffectiveness  of  his  falsehood, 
that  the  young  girl,  who  had  turned  away, 
came  back  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  You  must  lie  still  and  try  to  sleep,"  she 
said  gently.  "  I  will  return  again.  Per- 
haps," she  added,  "  there  is  some  one  I  can 
send  for  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head  violently.  Then  in  his 
old  manner  added,  "  After  Mademoiselle  — 
no  one." 

"  I  mean  "  —  she  hesitated  ;  "  have  you 
no  friends  ?  " 

"Friends,  —  ah!  without  doubt."  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  "But  Mademoi- 
selle will  comprehend  "  — 

"  You  are  better  now,"  said  Rosey  quickly, 
"  and  no  one  need  know  anything  if  you 
don't  wish  it.  Try  to  sleep.  You  need  not 

10 


146  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

lock  the  door  when  I  go ;  I  will  see  that  no 
one  comes  in." 

He  flushed  faintly  and  averted  his  eyes. 
"  It  is  too  droll,  Mademoiselle,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  said  Rosey,  glancing 
round  the  miserable  room. 

"  And  Mademoiselle  is  an  angel." 

He  carried  her  hand  to  his  lips  humbly 
—  his  first  purely  unaffected  action.  She 
slipped  through  the  door,  and  softly  closed 
it  behind  her. 

Reaching  the  upper  deck  she  was  relieved 
to  find  her  father  had  not  returned,  and  her 
absence  had  been  unnoticed.  For  she  had 
resolved  to  keep  de  Ferrieres's  secret  to  her- 
self from  the  moment  that  she.  had  unwit- 
tingly discovered  it,  and  to  do  this  and  still 
be  able  to  watch  over  him  without  her 
father's  knowledge  required  some  caution. 
She  was  conscious  of  his  strange  aversion  to 
the  unfortunate  man  without  understand- 
ing the  reason,  but  as  she  was  in  the  habit 
of  entertaining  his  caprices  more  from  af- 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  147 

fectionate  tolerance  of  his  weakness  than 
reverence  of  his  judgment,  she  saw  no  dis- 
loyalty to  him  in  withholding  a  confidence 
that  might  be  disloyal  to  another.  "  It  won't 
do  father  any  good  to  know  it,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "  and  if  it  did  it  ought  n't  to,"  she 
added  with  triumphant  feminine  logic.  But 
the  impression  made  upon  her  by  the  spec- 
tacle she  had  just  witnessed  was  stronger 
than  any  other  consideration.  The  revela- 
tion of  de  Ferrieres's  secret  poverty  seemed 
a  chapter  from  a  romance  of  her  own  weav- 
ing ;  for  a  moment  it  lifted  the  miserable 
hero  out  of  the  depths  of  his  folly  and  self- 
ishness. She  forgot  the  weakness  of  the 
man  in  the  strength  of  his  dramatic  sur- 
roundings. It  partly  satisfied  a  craving  she 
had  felt ;  it  was  not  exactly  the  story  of  the 
ship,  as  she  had  dreamed  it,  but  it  was  an 
episode  in  her  experience  of  it  that  broke  its 
monotony.  That  she  should  soon  learn,  per- 
haps from  de  FerriSres's  own  lips,  the  true 
reason  of  his  strange  seclusion,  and  that  it 


148  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

involved  more  than  appeared  to  her  now,  she 
never  for  a  moment  doubted. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  she  again  knocked 
softly  at  the  door,  carrying  some  light  nour- 
ishment she  had  prepared  for  him.  He  was 
asleep,  but  she  was  astounded  to  find  that  in 
the  interval  he  had  managed  to  dress  himself 
completely  in  his  antiquated  finery.  It  was 
a  momentary  shock  to  the  illusion  she  had 
been  fostering,  but  she  forgot  it  in  the  piti- 
able contrast  between  his  haggard  face  and 
his  pomatumed  hair  and  beard,  the  jaunti- 
ness  of  his  attire,  and  the  collapse  of  his  in- 
valid figure.  When  she  had  satisfied  her- 
self that  his  sleep  was  natural,  she  busied 
herself  softly  in  arranging  the  miserable 
apartment.  With  a  few  feminine  touches 
she  removed  the  slovenliness  of  misery,  and 
placed  the  loose  material  and  ostentatious 
evidences  of  his  work  on  one  side.  Finding 
that  he  still  slept,  and  knowing  the  impor- 
tance of  this  natural  medication,  she  placed 
the  refreshment  she  had  brought  by  his  side 


A   SHIP   OF  '49.  149 

and  noiselessly  quitted  the  apartment.  Hur- 
rying through  the  gathering  darkness  be- 
tween decks,  she  once  or  twice  thought  she 
had  heard  footsteps,  and  paused,  but  en- 
countering no  one,  attributed  the  impression 
to  her  over-consciousness.  Yet  she  thought 
it  prudent  to  go  to  the  galley  first,  where  she 
lingered  a  few  moments  before  returning  to 
the  cabin.  On  entering  she  was  a  little 
startled  at  observing  a  figure  seated  at  her 
father's  desk,  but  was  relieved  at  finding  it 
was  Mr.  Renshaw. 

He  rose  and  put  aside  the  book  he  had 
idly  picked  up.  "  I  am  afraid  I  am  an  in- 
tentional intruder  this  time,  Miss  Nott.  But 
I  found  no  one  here,  and  I  was  tempted  to 
look  into  this  ship -shape  little  snuggery. 
You  see  the  temptation  got  the  better  of 
me." 

His  voice  and  smile  were  so  frank  and 
pleasant,  so  free  from  his  previous  restraint, 
yet  still  respectful,  so  youthful  yet  manly, 
that  Rosey  was  affected  by  them  even  in  her 


150  A  SHIP   OF  >49. 

preoccupation.  Her  eyes  brightened  and 
then  dropped  before  his  admiring  glance. 
Had  she  known  that  the  excitement  of  the 
last  few  hours  had  brought  a  wonderful 
charm  into  her  pretty  face,  had  aroused  the 
slumbering  life  of  her  half-wakened  beauty, 
she  would  have  been  more  confused.  As  it 
was,  she  was  only  glad  that  the  young  man 
should  turn  out  to  be  "  nice."  Perhaps  he 
might  tell  her  something  about  ships ;  per- 
haps if  she  had  only  known  him  longer  she 
might,  with  de  Ferrieres's  permission,  have 
shared  her  confidence  with  him,  and  enlisted 
his  sympathy  and  assistance.  She  contented 
herself  with  showing  this  anticipatory  grati- 
tude in  her  face  as  she  begged  him,  with  the 
timidity  of  a  maiden  hostess,  to  resume  his 
seat. 

But  Mr.  Renshaw  seemed  to  talk  only  to 
make  her  talk,  and  I  am  forced  to  admit 
that  Rosey  found  this  almost  as  pleasant. 
It  was  not  long  before  he  was  in  possession 
of  her  simple  history  from  the  day  of  her 


A  SHIP   OF  '49.  151 

baby  emigration  to  California  to  the  trans- 
fer of  her  childish  life  to  the  old  ship,  and 
even  of  much  of  the  romantic  fancies  she 
had  woven  into  her  existence  there.  What- 
ever ulterior  purpose  he  had  in  view,  he  lis- 
tened as  attentively  as  if  her  artless  chronicle 
was  filled  with  practical  information.  Once, 
when  she  had  paused  for  breath,  he  said 
gravely,  "  I  must  ask  you  to  show  me  over 
this  wonderful  ship  some  day  that  I  may  see 
it  with  your  eyes." 

"  But  I  think  you  know  it  already  better 
than  I  do,"  said  Rosey  with  a  smile. 

Mr.  Renshaw's  brow  clouded  slightly. 
"  Ah,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  his  former 
restraint ;  "  and  why  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Rosey  timidly,  "  I  thought 
you  went  round  and  touched  things  in  a 
familiar  way  as  if  you  had  handled  them 
before." 

The  young  man  raised  his  eyes  to  Rosey's 
and  kept  them  there  long  enough  to  bring 
back  his  gentler  expression.  "  Then,  because 


152  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

I  f oiind  you  trying  on  a  very  queer  bonnet 
the  first  day  I  saw  you,"  he  said,  mischiev- 
ously, "  I  ought  to  believe  you  were  in  the 
habit  of  wearing  one." 

In  the  first  flush  of  mutual  admiration 
young  people  are  apt  to  find  a  laugh  quite 
as  significant  as  a  sigh  for  an  expression  of 
sympathetic  communion,  and  this  master- 
stroke of  wit  convulsed  them  both.  In  the 
midst  of  it  Mr.  Nott  entered  the  cabin.  But 
the  complacency  with  which  he  viewed  the 
evident  perfect  understanding  of  the  pair 
was  destined  to  suffer  some  abatement. 
Rosey,  suddenly  conscious  that  she  was  in 
some  way  participating  in  ridicule  of  her 
father  through  his  unhappy  gift,  became 
embarrassed.  Mr.  Renshaw's  restraint  re- 
turned with  the  presence  of  the  old  man. 
In  vain,  at  first,  Abner  Nott  strove  with 
profound  levity  to  indicate  his  arch  compre- 
hension of  the  situation,  and  in  vain,  later, 
becoming  alarmed,  he  endeavored,  with 
cheerful  gravity,  to  indicate  his  utter  obliv- 


A  SHIP   OF  >49.  153 

iousness  of  any  but  a  business  significance 
in  their  tete-d-tete. 

"I  oughtn't  to  hev  intruded,  Rosey,"  he 
said,  "when  you  and  the  gentleman  were 
talkin'  of  contracts,  mebbee ;  but  don't  mind 
me.  I  'm  on  the  fly,  anyhow,  Rosey  dear, 
hevin'  to  see  a  man  round  the  corner." 

But  even  the  attitude  of  withdrawing  did 
not  prevent  the  exit  of  Renshaw  to  his 
apartment  and  of  Rosey  to  the  galley.  Left 
alone  in  the  cabin,  Abner  Nott  felt  in  the 
knots  and  tangles  of  his  beard  for  a  reason. 
Glancing  down  at  his  prodigious  boots  which, 
covered  with  mud  and  gravel,  strongly  em- 
phasized his  agricultural  origin,  and  gave 
him  a  general  appearance  of  standing  on  his 
own  broad  acres,  he  was  struck  with  an  idea. 
"  It 's  them  boots,"  he  whispered  to  himself, 
softly ;  "  they  somehow  don't  seem  'xactly  to 
trump  or  follow  suit  in  this  yer  cabin  ;  they 
don't  hitch  into  any  thin',  but  jist  slosh 
round  loose,  and  so  to  speak  play  it  alone. 
And  them  young  critters  nat'rally  feels  it  and 


154  A   SHIP   OF  '49. 

gets  out  o'  the  way."  Acting  upon  this  in- 
stinct with  his  usual  precipitate  caution,  he 
at  once  proceeded  to  the  nearest  second-hand 
shop,  and,  purchasing  a  pair  of  enormous 
carpet  slippers,  originally  the  property  of  a 
gouty  sea-captain,  reappeared  with  a  strong 
suggestion  of  newly  upholstering  the  cabin. 
The  improvement,  however,  was  fraught  with 
a  portentous  circumstance.  Mr.  Nott's  foot- 
steps, which  usually  announced  his  approach 
all  over  the  ship,  became  stealthy  and  in- 
audible. 

Meantime  Miss  Rosey  had  taken  advantage 
of  the  absence  of  her  father  to  visit  her 
patient.  To  avoid  attracting  attention  she 
did  not  take  a  light,  but  groped  .her  way  to 
the  lower  deck  and  rapped  softly  at  the  door. 
It  was  instantly  opened  by  de  Ferrieres. 
He  had  apparently  appreciated  the  few 
changes  she  had  already  made  in  the  room, 
and  had  himself  cleared  away  the  pallet 
from  which  he  had  risen  to  make  two  low 
seats  against  the  wall.  Two  bits  of  candle 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  155 

placed  on  the  floor  illuminated  the  beams 
above,  the  dressing-gown  was  artistically 
draped  over  the  solitary  chair,  and  a  pile  of 
cushions  formed  another  seat.  With  elab- 
orate courtesy  he  handed  Miss  Rosey  to  the 
chair.  He  looked  pale  and  weak,  though 
the  gravity  of  the  attack  had  evidently 
passed.  Yet  he  persisted  in  remaining  stand- 
ing. "  If  I  sit,"  he  explained  with  a  gesture, 
"  I  shall  again  disgrace  myself  by  sleeping 
in  Mademoiselle's  presence.  Yes!  I  shall 
sleep  —  I  shall  dream  —  and  wake  to  find 
her  gone  ?  " 

More  embarrassed  by  his  recovery  than 
when  he  was  lying  helplessly  before  her,  she 
said  hesitatingly  that  she  was  glad  he  was 
better,  and  that  she  hoped  he  liked  the  broth. 

"  It  was  manna  from  heaven,  Mademoi- 
selle. See,  I  have  taken  it  all  —  every  pre- 
cious drop.  What  else  could  I  have  done 
for  Mademoiselle's  kindness  ?  " 

He  showed  her  the  empty  bowl.  A  swift 
conviction  came  upon  her  that  the  man  had 


156  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

been  suffering  from  want  of  food.  The 
thought  restored  her  self-possession  even  ' 
while  it  brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes.  "  I 
wish  you  would  let  me  speak  to  father  —  or 
some  one,"  she  said  impulsively,  and  stopped. 
A  quick  and  half  insane  gleam  of  terror 
and  suspicion  lit  up  his  deep  eyes.  "  For 
what,  Mademoiselle !  For  an  accident  —  that 
is  nothing  —  absolutely  nothing,  for  I  am 
strong  and  well  now  —  see !  "  he  said  trem- 
blingly. "  Or  for  a  whim  —  for  a  folly  you 
may  say,  that  they  will  misunderstand.  No, 
Mademoiselle  is  good,  is  wise.  She  will  say 
to  herself,  'I  understand,  my  friend  Mon- 
sieur de  Ferrieres  for  the  moment  has  a 
secret.  He  would  seem  poor,  he  would  take 
the  role  of  artisan,  he  would  shut  himself  up 
in  these  walls  —  perhaps  I  may  guess  why, 
but  it  is  his  secret.  I  think  of  it  no  more.'  " 
He  caught  her  hand  in  his  with  a  gesture 
that  he  would  have  made  one  of  gallantry, 
but  that  in  its  tremulous  intensity  became  a 
piteous  supplication. 


A   SHIP   OF  '49.  157 

"  I  have  said  nothing,  and  will  say  nothing, 
if  you  wish  it,"  said  Kosey  hastily ;  "  but 
others  may  find  out  how  you  live  here.  This 
is  not  fit  work  for  you.  You  seem  to  be 
a  —  a  gentleman.  You  ought  to  be  a  lawyer, 
or  a  doctor,  or  in  a  bank,"  she  continued 
timidly,  with  a  vague  enumeration  of  the 
prevailing  degrees  of  local  gentility. 

He  dropped  her  hand.  "  Ah !  does  not 
Mademoiselle  comprehend  that  it  is  because 
I  am  a  gentleman  that  there  is  tfothing 
between  it  and  this  ?  Look !  "  he  continued 
almost  fiercely.  "  What  if  I  told  you  it  is 
the  lawyer,  it  is  the  doctor,  it  is  the  banker 
that  brings  me,  a  gentleman,  to  this,  eh? 
Ah,  bah  !  What  do  I  say  ?  This  is  honest, 
what  I  do !  But  the  lawyer,  the  banker,  the 
doctor,  what  are  they  ?  "  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  and  pacing  the  apartment  with  a 
furtive  glance  at  the  half  anxious,  half 
frightened  girl,  suddenly  stopped,  dragged  a 
small  portmanteau  from  behind  the  heap  of 
bales  and  opened  it.  "  Look,  Mademoiselle," 


158  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

he  said,  tremulously  lifting  a  handful  of 
worn  and  soiled  letters  and  papers.  "Look 
—  these  are  the  tools  of  your  banker,  your 
lawyer,  your  doctor.  With  this  the  banker 
will  make  you  poor,  the  lawyer  will  prove 
you  a  thief,  the  doctor  will  swear  you  are 
crazy,  eh  ?  What  shall  you  call  the  work  of 
a  gentleman  —  this  "  —  he  dragged  the  pile 
of  cushions  forward  —  "or  this ?  " 

To  the  young  girl's  observant  eyes  some 
of  the  papers  appeared  to  be  of  a  legal  or 
official  character,  and  others  like  bills  of 
lading,  with  which  she  was  familiar.  Their 
half-theatrical  exhibition  reminded  her  of 
some  play  she  had  seen  ;  they  might  be  the 
clue  to  some  story,  or  the  mere,  worthless 
hoardings  of  a  diseased  fancy.  Whatever 
they  were,  de  Ferrieres  did  not  apparently 
care  to  explain  further;  indeed,  the  next 
moment  his  manner  changed  to  his  old 
absurd  extravagance.  "But  this  is  stupid 
for  Mademoiselle  to  hear.  What  shall  we 
speak  of  ?  Ah !  what  should  we  speak  of 
in  Mademoiselle's  presence  ?  " 


A  SHIP  OF  >49.  159 

"  But  are  not  these  papers  valuable  ? " 
asked  Rosey,  partly  to  draw  her  host's 
thoughts  back  to  their  former  channel. 

"  Perhaps."  He  paused  and  regarded  the 
young  girl  fixedly.  "  Does  Mademoiselle 
think  so?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Rosey.  "  How 
should  I  ?  " 

"  Ah !  if  Mademoiselle  thought  so  —  if 
Mademoiselle  would  deign  "  —  He  stopped 
again  and  placed  his  hand  upon  his  forehead. 
"  It  might  be  so  !  "  he  muttered. 

"I  must  go  now,"  said  Rosey  hurriedly, 
rising  with  an  awkward  sense  of  constraint. 
"  Father  will  wonder  where  I  am." 

"  I  shall  explain.  I  will  accompany  you 
Mademoiselle." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Rosey,  quickly ;  "  he  must 
not  know  I  have  been  here !  "  She  stopped. 
The  honest  blush  flew  to  her  cheek,  and  then 
returned  again,  because  she  had  blushed. 

De  Ferri£res  gazed  at  her  with  an  exalted 
look.  Then  drawing  himself  to  his  full 


160  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

height,  he  said,  with  an  exaggerated  and 
indescribable  gesture,  "Go,  my  child,  go. 
Tell  your  father  that  you  have  been  alone 
and  unprotected  in  the  abode  of  poverty  and 
suffering,  but  —  that  it  was  in  the  presence 
of  Armand  de  Ferrieres." 

He  threw  open  the  door  with  a  bow  that 
nearly  swept  the  ground,  but  did  not  again 
offer  to  take  her  hand.  At  once  impressed 
and  embarrassed  at  this  crowning  incon- 
gruity, her  pretty  lip  trembled  between  a 
smile  and  a  cry  as  she  said,  "  Good-night," 
and  slipped  away  into  the  darkness. 

Erect  and  grotesque  de  Ferrieres  retained 
the  same  attitude  until  the  sound  of  her  foot- 
steps was  lost,  when  he  slowly  Be'gan  to  close 
the  door.  But  a  strong  arm  arrested  it  from 
without,  and  a  large  carpeted  foot  appeared 
at  the  bottom  of  the  narrowing  opening. 
The  door  yielded,  and  Mr.  Abner  Nott  en- 
tered the  room. 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  161 


IV. 

With  an  exclamation  and  a  hurried  glance 
around  him,  de  Ferrieres  threw  himself  be- 
fore the  intruder.  But  slowly  lifting  his 
large  hand,  and  placing  it  on  his  lodger's 
breast,  he  quietly  overbore  the  sick  man's 
feeble  resistance  with  an  impact  of  power 
that  seemed  almost  as  moral  as  it  was  phys-^ 
ical.  He  did  not  appear  to  take  any  notice 
of  the  room  or  its  miserable  surroundings ; 
indeed,  scarcely  of  the  occupant.  Still  push- 
ing him,  with  abstracted  eyes  and  immo- 
bile face,  to  the  chair  that  Rosey  had  just 
quitted,  he  made  him  sit  down,  and  then 
took  up  his  own  position  on  the  pile  of  cush- 
ions opposite.  His  usually  underdone  com- 
plexion was  of  watery  blueness ;  but  his 
dull,  abstracted  glance  appeared  to  exercise 
a  certain  dumb,  narcotic  fascination  on  his 
lodger. 


162  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

"  I  mout,"  said  Nott,  slowly,  "  hev  laid  ye 
out  here  on  sight,  without  enny  warnin', 
or  dropped  ye  in  yer  tracks  in  Montgomery 
Street,  wherever  ther  was  room  to  work  a 
six-shooter  in  comf 'ably  ?  Johnson,  of  Peta- 
luny  —  him,  ye  know,  ez  had  a  game  eye  — 
fetched  Flynn  comin'  outer  meetin'  one 
Sunday,  and  it  was  only  on  account  of  his 
wife,  and  she  a  second-hand  one,  so  to  speak. 
There  was  Walker,  of  Contra  Costa,  plugged 
that  young  Sacramento  chap,  whose  name 
I  disremember,  full  o'  holes  just  ez  he  was 
sayin'  '  Good  by '  to  his  darter.  I  mout  hev 
done  all  this  if  it  had  settled  things  to 
please  me.  For  while  you  and  Flynn  and 
that  Sacramento  chap  ez  all  about  the  same 
sort  o'  men,  Kosey  's  a  different  kind  from 
their  sort  o'  women." 

"Mademoiselle  is  an  angel!  "  said  de  Fer- 
rieres,  suddenly  rising,  with  an  excess  of  ex- 
travagance. "  A  saint !  Look  !  I  cram  the 
lie,  ha !  down  his  throat  who  challenges  it." 

"  Ef  by  mam'selle  ye  mean  my  Rosey," 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  163 

said  Nott,  quietly  laying  his  powerful  hands 
on  de  Ferrieres's  shoulders,  and  slowly  pin- 
ning him  down  again  upon  his  chair,  "  ye  're 
about  right,  though  she  ain't  mam'selle  yet. 
Ez  I  was  sayin',  I  might  hev  killed  you  off 
hand  if  I  hed  thought  it  would  hev  been  a 
good  thing  for  Rosey." 

"  For  her  ?  Ah,  well !  Look,  I  am  ready." 
interrupted  de  Ferrieres,  again  springing  to 
his  feet,  and  throwing  open  his  coat  with 
both  hands.  "  See !  here  at  my  heart  — 
fire !  " 

"  Ez  I  was  sayin',"  continued  Nott,  once 
more  pressing  the  excited  man  down  in  his 
chair,  "  I  might  hev  wiped  ye  out  —  and 
mebbee  ye  would  n't  hev  keered  —  or  you 
might  hev  wiped  me  out,  and  I  mout  hev 
said,  '  Thank  'ee,'  but  I  reckon  this  ain't  a 
case  for  what 's  comf'able  for  you  and  me. 
It 's  what 's  good  for  Rosey.  And  the  thing 
to  kalkilate  is,  what 's  to  be  done." 

His  small  round  eyes  for  the  first  time 
rested  on  de  Ferrieres's  face,  and  were 


164  A  SHIP  OF  >49. 

quickly  withdrawn.  It  was  evident  that  this 
abstracted  look,  which  had  fascinated  his 
lodger,  was  merely  a  resolute  avoidance  of 
de  Ferrieres's  glance,  and  it  became  ap- 
parent later  that  this  "avoidance  was  due  to 
a  ludicrous  appreciation  of  de  Ferrieres's  at- 
tractions. 

"  And  after  we  've  done  that  we  must  kal- 
kilate  what  Rosey  is,  and  what  Rosey  wants. 
P'raps,  ye  allow,  you  know  what  Rosey  is  ? 
P'raps  you  've  seen  her  prance  round  in 
velvet  bonnets  and  white  satin  slippers,  and 
sich.  P'raps  you  've  seen  her  readin'  tracks 
and  v'yages,  without  waitin'  to  spell  a  word, 
or  catch  her  breath.  But  that  ain't  the 
Eosey  ez  /  know.  It 's  a  little  child  ez  uster 
crawl  in  and  out  the  tail-board  of  a  Miz- 
zouri  wagon  on  the  alcali  pizoned  plains, 
where  there  was  n't  another  bit  of  God's 
mercy  on  yearth  to  be  seen  for  miles  and 
miles.  It 's  a  little  gal  as  uster  hunger  and 
thirst  ez  quiet  and  mannerly  ez  she  now  eats 
and  drinks  in  plenty ;  whose  voice  was  ez 


A  SHIP   OF  '49.  165 

steady  with  Injins  yelling  round  her  nest  in 
the  leaves  on  Sweetwater  ez  in  her  purty 
cabin  up  yonder.  That  's  the  gal  ez  I 
know  !  That 's  the  Rosey  ez  my  ole  woman 
puts  into  my  arms  one  night  arter  we  left 
Laramie  when  the  fever  was  high,  and  sez, 
'Abner,'  sez  she,  'the  chariot  is  swingin' 
low  for  me  to-night,  but  thar  ain't  room  in 
it  for  her  or  you  to  git  in  or  hitch  on.  Take 
her  and  rare  her,  so  we  kin  all  jine  on  the 
other  shore,'  sez  she.  And  I  'd  knowed  the 
other  shore  was  n't  no  Kaliforny.  And  that 
night,  p'raps,  the  chariot  swung  lower  than 
ever  before,  and  my  ole  woman  stepped  into 
it,  and  left  me  and  Rosey  to  creep  on  in  the 
old  wagon  alone.  It 's  them  kind  o'  things," 
added  Mr.  Nott  thoughtfully,  "  that  seem  to 
pint  to  my  killin'  you  on  sight  ez  the  best 
thing  to  be  done.  And  yet  Rosey  might  n't 
like  it." 

He  had  slipped  one  of  his  feet  out  of  his 
huge  carpet  slippers,  and,  as  he  reached 
down  to  put  it  on  again,  he  added  calmly : 


166  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

"  And  ez  to  yer  marrying  her  it  ain't  to  be 
done." 

The  utterly  bewildered  expression  which 
transfigured  de  Ferrieres's  face  at  this  an- 
nouncement was  unobserved  by  Nott's  avert- 
ed eyes,  nor  did  he  perceive  that  his  listener 
the  next  moment  straightened  his  erect  fig- 
ure and  adjusted  his  cravat. 

"  Ef  Rosey,"  he  continued,  "  hez  read  in 
vy'ges  and  tracks  in  Eyetalian  and  French 
countries  of  such  chaps  ez  you  and  kalki- 
lates  you  're  the  right  kind  to  tie  to,  mebbee 
it  mout  hev  done  if  you  'd  been  livin'  over 
thar  in  a  pallis,  but  somehow  it  don't  jibe 
in  over  here  and  agree  with  a  ship  —  and 
that  ship  lying  comf 'able  ashore  in  San  Fran- 
cisco. You  don't  seem  to  suit  .the  climate, 
you  see,  and  your  general  gait  is  likely  to 
stampede  the  other  cattle.  Agin,"  said  Nott, 
with  an  ostentation  of  looking  at  his  com- 
panion but  really  gazing  on  vacancy,  "  this 
fixed  up,  antique  style  of  yours  goes  better 
with  them  ivy  kivered  ruins  in  Rome  and 


A  SHIP   OF  '49.  167 

Palmyry  that  Rosey's  mixed  you  up  with, 
than  it  would  yere.  I  ain't  saying,"  he  added 
as  de  Ferrieres  was  about  to  speak,  "  I  ain't 
sayin'  ez  that  child  ain't  smitten  with  ye.  It 
ain't  no  use  to  lie  and  say  she  don't  prefer 
you  to  her  old  father,  or  young  chaps  of  her 
own  age  and  kind.  I  've  seed  it  afor  now. 
I  suspicioned  it  afor  I  seed  her  slip  out  o' 
this  place  to-night.  Thar!  keep  your  hair 
on,  such  ez  it  is  !  "  he  added  as  de  Ferrieres 
attempted  a  quick  deprecatory  gesture.  "  I 
ain't  askin  yer  how  often  she  comes  here, 
nor  what  she  sez  to  you  nor  you  to  her.  I 
ain't  asked  her  and  1  don't  ask  you.  I  '11 
allow  ez  you  've  settled  all  the  preliminaries 
and  bought  her  the  ring  and  sich  ;  I  'm  only 
askin'  you  now,  kalkilatin'  you  've  got  all 
the  keerds  in  your  own  hand,  what  you  '11 
take  to  step  out  and  leave  the  board?" 

The  dazed  look  of  de  Ferrieres  might 
have  forced  itself  even  upon  Nott's  one- 
idead  fatuity,  had  it  not  been  a  part  of  that 
gentleman's  system  delicately  to  look  an- 


168  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

other  way  at  that  moment  so  as  not  to  em- 
barrass his  adversary's  calculation.  "  Par- 
don," stammered  de  Ferri£res,  "  but  I  do 
not  comprehend ! "  He  raised  his  hand  to 
his  head.  "  I  am  not  well  —  I  am  stupid. 
Ah,  mon  Dieu !  " 

"  I  ain't  sayin',"  added  Nott  more  gently, 
"  ez  you  don't  feel  bad.  It 's  nat'ral.  But 
it  ain't  business.  I  'm  asking  you,"  he  con- 
tinued, talking  from  his  breast-pocket  a  large 
wallet,  "  how  much  you  '11  take  in  cash  now, 
and  the  rest  next  steamer  day,  to  give  up 
Rosey  and  leave  the  ship." 

De  Ferrieres  staggered  to  his  feet  despite 
Nott's  restraining  hand.  "  To  leave  Made- 
moiselle and  leave  the  ship  ?  "  he  said  hus- 
kily, "  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  In  course.  Yer  can  leave  things  yer 
just  fiz  you  found  'em  when  you  came,  you 
know,"  continued  Nott,  for  the  first  time 
looking  around  the  miserable  apartment. 
"  It 's  a  business  job.  I  '11  take  the  bales 
back  ag'in,  and  you  kin  reckon  up  what 
you  're  out,  countin'  Rosey  and  loss  o'  time." 


A  SHIP   OF  >49.  169 

"  He  wishes  me  to  go  —  he  has  said,"  re- 
peated de  Ferridres  to  himself  thickly. 

"  Ef  you  mean  me  when  you  say  him,  and 
ez  thar  ain't  any  other  man  around,  I  reckon 
you  do  — '  yes ! ' ' 

"  And  he  asks  me  —  he  —  this  man  of  the 
feet  and  the  daughter  —  asks  me  —  de  Fer- 
rieres  —  what  I  will  take,"  continued  de 
FerriSres,  buttoning  his  coat.  "  No !  it  is  a 
dream !  "  He  walked  stiffly  to  the  corner 
where  his  portmanteau  lay,  lifted  it,  and 
going  to  the  outer  door,  a  cut  through  the 
ship's  side  that  communicated  with  the  alley, 
unlocked  it  and  flung  it  open  to  the  night. 
A  thick  mist  like  the  breath  of  the  ocean 
flowed  into  the  room. 

"  You  ask  me  what  I  shall  take  to  go," 
he  said  as  he  stood  on  the  threshold.  "  I 
shall  take  what  you  cannot  give,  Monsieur, 
but  what  I  would  not  keep  if  I  stood  here 
another  moment.  I  take  my  Honor,  Mon- 
sieur, and  —  I  take  my  leave  !  " 

For  a  moment  his  grotesque  figure  was 


170  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

outlined  in  the  opening,  and  then  disap- 
peared as  if  he  had  dropped  into  an  invisi- 
ble ocean  below.  Stupefied  and  disconcerted 
at  this  complete  success  of  his  overtures, 
Abner  Nott  remained  speechless,  gazing  at 
the  vacant  space  until  a  cold  influx  of  the 
mist  recalled  him.  Then  he  rose  and  shuf- 
fled quickly  to  the  door. 

"  Hi !  Ferrers  !  Look  yer  —  Say  !  Wot 's 
your  hurry,  pardner  ?  " 

But  there  was  no  response.  The  thick 
mist,  which  hid  the  surrounding  objects, 
seemed  to  deaden  all  sound  also.  After  a 
moment's  pause  he  closed  the  door,  but  did 
not  lock  it,  and  retreating  to  the  centre  of 
the  room  remained  blinking  at  the  two  can- 
dles and  plucking  some  perplexing  problem 
from  his  beard.  Suddenly  an  idea  seized 
him.  Rosey  !  Where  was  she  ?  Perhaps  it 
had  been  a  preconcerted  plan,  and  she  had 
fled  with  him.  Putting  out  the  lights  he 
stumbled  hurriedly  through  the  passage  to 
the  gangway  above.  The  cabin -door  was 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  171 

open  ;  there  was  the  sound  of  voices  —  Ren- 
shaw's  and  Rosey's.  Mr.  Nott  felt  relieved 
but  not  unembarrassed.  He  would  have 
avoided  his  daughter's  presence  that  even- 
ing. But  even  while  making  this  resolution 
with  characteristic  infelicity  he  blundered 
into  the  room.  Rosey  looked  up  with  a 
slight  start;  Renshaw's  animated  face  was 
changed  to  its  former  expression  of  inward 
discontent. 

"You  came  in  so  like  a  ghost,  father," 
said  Rosey  with  a  slight  peevishness  that 
was  new  to  her.  "  And  I  thought  you  were 
in  town.  Don't  go,  Mr.  Renshaw." 

But  Mr.  Renshaw  intimated  that  he  had 
already  trespassed  upon  Miss  Nott's  time, 
and  that  no  doubt  her  father  wanted  to  talk 
with  her.  To  his  surprise  and  annoyance, 
however,  Mr.  Nott  insisted  on  accompany- 
ing him  to  his  room,  and  without  heeding 
Renshaw's  cold  "Good-night,"  entered  and 
closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"P'rap's,"  said  Mr.  Nott  with  a  troubled 


172  A  SHIP  OF  >49. 

air,  "  you  disremember  that  when  you  first 
kem  here  you  asked  me  if  you  could  hev 
that  'er  loft  that  the  Frenchman  had  down* 
stairs." 

"  No,  I  don't  remember  it,"  said  Renshaw 
almost  rudely.  "But,"  he  added,  after  a 
pause,  with  the  air  of  a  man  obliged  to  re- 
vive a  stale  and  unpleasant  memory,  "if  I 
did  —  what  about  it  ?  " 

"Nuthin',  only  that  you  kin  hev  it  to- 
morrow, ez  that  'ere  Frenchman  is  movin' 
out,"  responded  Nott.  "  I  thought  you  was 
sorter  keen  about  it  when  you  first  kem." 

"  TJmph  !  we  '11  talk  about  it  to-morrow." 
Something  in  the  look  of  wearied  perplexity 
with  which  Mr.  Nott  was  beginning  to  re- 
gard his  own  mal  d  propos*  presence,  ar- 
rested the  young  man's  attention.  "  What 's 
the  reason  you  did  n't  sell  this  old  ship  long 
ago,  take  a  decent  house  in  the  town,  and 
bring  up  your  daughter  like  a  lady  ?  "  he 
asked  with  a  sudden  blunt  good  humor.  But 
even  this  implied  blasphemy  against  the 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  173 

habitation  he  worshiped  did  not  prevent  Mr. 

Nott  from  his  usual  misconstruction  of  the 

• 

question. 

"  I  reckon,  now,  Rosey's  got  high-flown 
ideas  of  livin'  in  a  castle  with  ruins,  eh  ?  "  he 
said  cunningly. 

"  Have  n't  heard  her  say,"  returned  Ren- 
shaw  abruptly.  "  Good-night." 

Firmly  convinced  that  Rosey  had  been 
unable  to  conceal  from  Mr.  Renshaw  the  in- 
fluence of  her  dreams  of  a  castellated  future 
with  de  Ferrieres,  he  regained  the  cabin. 
Satisfying  himself  that  his  daughter  had  re- 
tired, he  sought  his  own  couch.  But  not  to 
sleep.  The  figure  of  de  Ferrieres,  standing 
in  the  ship  side  and  melting  into  the  outer 
darkness,  haunted  him,  and  compelled  him 
in  dreams  to  rise  and  follow  him  through 
the  alleys  and  by-ways  of  the  crowded  city. 
Again,  it  was  a  part  of  his  morbid  suspicion 
that  he  now  invested  the  absent  man  with  a 
potential  significance  and  an  unknown  power. 
What  deep-laid  plans  might  he  not  form  to 


174  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

possess  himself  of  Rosey,  of  which  he,  Ab- 
ner  Nott,  would  be  ignorant?  Unchecked 
by  the  restraint  of  a  father's  roof  he  would 
now  give  full  license  to  his  power.  "  Said 
he  'd  take  his  Honor  with  him,"  muttered 
Abner  to  himself  in  the  dim  watches  of  the 
night ;  "  lookin'  at  that  sayin'  in  its  right 
light,  it  looks  bad." 


V. 


The  elaborately  untruthful  account  which 
Mr.  Nott  gave  his  daughter  of  de  Ferri£res's 
sudden  departure  was  more  fortunate  than 
his  usual  equivocations.  While  it  disap- 
pointed and  slightly  mortified  her,  it  did  not 
seem  to  her  inconsistent  with  what  she  al- 
ready knew  of  him.  "  Said  his  doctor  had 
ordered  him  to  quit  town  under  an  hour, 
owing  to  a  comin'  attack  of  hay  fever,  and 
he  had  a  friend  from  furrin  parts  waitin' 
him  at  the  Springs,  Rosey,"  explained  Nott, 


A   SHIP  OF  '49.  175 

hesitating  between  his  desire  to  avoid  his 
daughter's  eyes  and  his  wish  to  observe  her 
countenance. 

"Was  he  worse?  —  I  mean  did  he  look 
badly,  father  ? "  inquired  Rosey  thought- 
fully. 

"  I  reckon  not  exackly  bad.  Kinder 
looked  ez  if  he  mout  be  worse  soon  ef  he 
did  n't  hump  hisself." 

"  Did  you  see  him  ?  —  in  his  room  ?  " 
asked  Rosey  anxiously.  Upon  the  answer 
to  this  simple  question  depended  the  future 
confidential  relations  of  father  and  daugh- 
ter. If  her  father  had  himself  detected  the 
means  by  which  his  lodger  existed,  she  felt 
that  her  own  obligations  to  secrecy  had  been 
removed.  But  Mr.  Nott's  answer  disposed 
of  this  vain  hope.  It  was  a  response  after 
his  usual  fashion  to  the  question  he  imagined 
she  artfully  wished  to  ask,  i.  e.  if  he  had. 
discovered  their  rendezvous  of  the  previous 
night.  This  it  was  part  of  his  peculiar  deli- 
cacy to  ignore.  Yet  his  reply  showed  that 


176  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

he  had  been  unconscious  of  the  one  miserable 
secret  that  he  might  have  read  easily. 

"  I  was  there  an  hour  or  so  —  him  and  me 
alone  —  discussin'  trade.  I  reckon  he  's  got 
a  good  thing  outer  that  curled  horse  hair,  for 
I  see  he  's  got  in  an  invoice  o'  cushions. 
I  Ve  stored  'em  all  in  the  forrard  bulkhead 
until  he  sends  for  'em,  ez  Mr.  Renshaw  hez 
taken  the  loft." 

But  although  Mr.  Eenshaw  had  taken  the 
loft,  he  did  not  seem  in  haste  to  occupy  it. 
He  spent  part  of  the  morning  in  uneasily 
pacing  his  room,  in  occasional  sallies  into 
the  street  from  which  he  purposelessly  re- 
turned, and  once  or  twice  in  distant  and  fur- 
tive contemplation  of  Rosey  at  work  in  the 
galley.  This  last  observation  was  not  unno- 
ticed by  the  astute  Nott,  who  at  once  con- 
ceiving that  he  was  nourishing  a  secret  and 
hopeless  passion  for  Rosey,  began  to  con- 
sider whether  it  was  not  his  duty  to  warn 
the  young  man  of  her  preoccupied  affec- 
tions. But  Mr.  Renshaw's  final  disappear- 


A  SHIP   OF  >49.  177 

ance  obliged  him  to  withhold  his  confidence 
till  morning. 

This  time  Mr.  Eenshaw  left  the  ship  with 
the  evident  determination  of  some  settled 
purpose.  He  walked  rapidly  until  he  reached 
the  counting-house  of  Mr.  Sleight,  when  he 
was  at  once  shown  into  a  private  office.  In 
a  few  moments  Mr.  Sleight,  a  brusque  but 
passionless  man,  joined  him. 

"  Well,"  said  Sleight,  closing  the  door 
carefully.  "  What  news  ?  " 

"  None,"  said  Renshaw  bluntly.  "  Look 
here,  Sleight,"  he  added,  turning  to  him 
suddenly.  "Let  me  out  of  this  game.  I 
don't  like  it." 

"  Does  that  mean  you  Ve  found  noth- 
ing?" asked  Sleight,  sarcastically. 

"  It  means  that  I  have  n't  looked  for  any- 
thing, and  that  I  don't  intend  to  without 

the  full  knowledge  of  that  d d  fool  who 

owns  the  ship." 

"  You  've  changed  your  mind  since  you 
wrote  that  letter,"  said  Sleight  coolly,  pro- 
12 


178  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

ducing  from  a  drawer  the  note  already 
known  to  the  reader.  Renshaw  mechanical- 
ly extended  his  hand  to  take  it.  Mr.  Sleight 
dropped  the  letter  back  into  the  drawer, 
which  he  quietly  locked.  The  apparently 
simple  act  dyed  Mr.  Renshaw's  cheek  with 
color,  but  it  vanished  quickly,  and  with  it 
any  token  of  his  previous  embarrassment. 
He  looked  at  Sleight  with  the  convinced  air 
of  a  resolute  man  who  had  at  last  taken  a 
disagreeable  step  but  was  willing  to  stand 
by  the  consequences. 

"I  have  changed  my  mind,"  he  said  coolly. 
•  "  I  found  out  that  it  was  one  thing  to  go 
down  there  as  a  skilled  prospector  might 
go  to  examine  a  mine  that  was  to  be  val- 
ued according  to  his  report  of  the  indica- 
tions, but  that  it  was  entirely  another  thing 
to  go  and  play  the  spy  in  a  poor  devil's  house 
in  order  to  buy  something  he  did  n't  know 
he  was  selling  and  would  n't  sell  if  he  did." 
"  And  something  that  the  man  Tie  bought 
of  did  n't  think  of  selling ;  something  lie 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  179 

himself  never  paid  for,  and  never  expected 
to  buy,"  sneered  Sleight. 

"  But  something  that  we  expect  to  buy 
from  our  knowledge  of  all  this,  and  it  is 
that  which  makes  all  the  difference." 

"  But  you  knew  all  this  before." 

"  I  never  saw  it  in  this  light  before !  I 
never  thought  of  it  until  1  was  living  there 
face  to  face  with  the  old  fool  I  was  intend- 
ing to  overreach.  I  never  was  sure  of  it 
until  this  morning,  when  he  actually  turned 
out  one  of  his  lodgers  that  I  might  have  the 
very  room  I  required  to  play  off  our  little 
game  in  comfortably.  When  he  did  that,  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  drop  the  whole  thing, 
and  I  'm  here  to  do  it." 

"  And  let  somebody  else  take  the  re- 
sponsibility —  with  the  percentage  —  unless 
you  've  also  felt  it  your  duty  to  warn  Nott 
too,"  said  Sleight  with  a  sneer. 

"  You  only  dare  say  that  to  me,  Sleight," 
said  Renshaw  quietly,  "  because  you  have  in 
that  drawer  an  equal  evidence  of  my  folly 


180  A  SHIP  OF  >49. 

and  my  confidence  ;  but  if  you  are  wise  you 
will  not  presume  too  far  on  either.  Let  us 
see  how  we  stand.  Through  the  yarn  of  a 
drunken  captain  and  a  mutinous  sailor  you 
became  aware  of  an  unclaimed  shipment  of 
treasure,  concealed  in  an  unknown  ship 
that  entered  this  harbor.  You  are  enabled, 
through  me,  to  corroborate  some  facts  and 
identify  the  ship.  You  proposed  to  me,  as  a 
speculation,  to  identify  the  treasure  if  pos- 
sible before  you  purchased  the  ship.  I  ac- 
cepted the  offer  without  consideration ;  on 
consideration  I  now  decline  it,  but  without 
prejudice  or  loss  to  any  one  but  nyself.  As 
to  your  insinuation  I  need  not  remind  you 
that  my  presence  here  to-day  refutes  it.  I 
would  not  require  your  permission  to  make 
a  much  better  bargain  with  a  good  natured 
fool  like  Nott  than  I  could  with  you.  Or  if 
I  did  not  care  for  the  business  I  could  have 
warned  the  girl  "  — 

"  The  girl  —  what  girl  ?  " 

Renshaw  bit  his  lip  but  answered  boldly. 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  181 

"  The  old  man's  daughter  —  a  poor  girl  — 
whom  this  act  would  rob  as  well  as  her 
father," 

Sleight  looked  at  his  companion  atten- 
tively. "  Ifou  might  have  said  so  at  first, 
and  let  up  on  this  cainp-meetin'  exhortation. 
"Well  then  —  admitting  you  've  got  the  old 
man  and  the  young  girl  on  the  same  string, 
and  that  you  've  played  it  pretty  low  down  in 
the  short  time  you  've  been  there  —  I  sup- 
pose, Dick  Renshaw,  I  've  got  to  see  your 
bluff.  Well,  how  much  is  it !  What 's  the 
figure  you  and  she  have  settled  on  ?  " 

For  an  instant  Mr.  Sleight  was  in  phys- 
ical danger.  But  before  he  had  finished 
speaking  Renshaw's  quick  sense  of  the  lu- 
dicrous had  so  far  overcome  his  first  indig- 
nation as  to  enable  him  even  to  admire  the 
perfect  moral  insensibility  of  his  companion. 
As  he  rose  and  walked  towards  the  door,  he 
half  wondered  that  he  had  ever  treated  the 
affair  seriously.  With  a  smile  he  replied : 

"  Far  from  bluffing,  Sleight,  I  am  throw- 


182  A  SHIP  OF  >49. 

ing  my  cards  on  the  table.  Consider  that 
I  've  passed  out.  Let  some  other  man  take 
my  hand.  Rake  down  the  pot  if  you  like, 
old  man,  /  leave  for  Sacramento  to-night. 
•Adios." 

When  the  door  had  closed  behind  him 
Mr.  Sleight  summoned  his  clerk. 

"  Is  that  petition  for  grading  Pontiac 
Street  ready?" 

"  I  've  seen  the  largest  property  holders, 
sir ;  they  're  only  waiting  for  you  to  sign 
first."  Mr.  Sleight  paused  and  then  affixed 
his  signature  to  the  paper  his  clerk  laid  be- 
fore him.  "  Get  the  other  names  and  send 
it  up  at  once." 

"  If  Mr.  Nott  does  n't  sign,  sir  ?  " 

"  No  matter.  He  will  be  assessed  all  the 
same."  Mr.  Sleight  took  up  his  hat. 

"The  Lascar  seaman  that  was  here  the 
other  day  has  been  wanting  to  see  you,  sir. 
I  said  you  were  busy." 

Mr.  Sleight  put  down  his  hat.  "  Send 
him  up." 


A  SHIP   OF  >49.  183 

Nevertheless  Mr.  Sleight  sat  down  and  at 
once  abstracted  himself  so  completely  as  to 
be  apparently  in  utter  oblivion  of  the  man 
who  entered.  He  was  lithe  and  Indian- 
looking  ;  bearing  in  dress  and  manner  the 
careless  slouch  without  the  easy  frankness  of 
a  sailor. 

"  Well !  "  said  Sleight  without  looking  up. 

"  I  was  only  wantin'  to  know  ef  you  had 
any  news  for  me,  boss  ?  " 

"  News  ?  "  echoed  Sleight  as  if  absently  ; 
"  news  of  what  ?  " 

"  That  little  matter  of  the  Pontiac  we 
talked  about,  boss,"  returned  the  Lascar 
with  an  uneasy  servility  in  the  whites  of  his 
teeth  and  eyes. 

"  Oh,"  said  Sleight,  "  that 's  played  out. 
It 's  a  regular  fraud.  It 's  an  old  forecastle 
yarn,  my  man,  that  you  can't  reel  off  in  the 
cabin." 

The  sailor's  face  darkened. 

"  The  man  who  was  looking  into  it  has 
thrown  the  whole  thing  up.  I  tell  you  it 's 


184  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

played  out ! "  repeated  Sleight,  without  rais- 
ing his  head. 

"  It 's  true,  boss  —  every  word,"  said  the 
Lascar,  with  an  appealing  insinuation  that 
seemed  to  struggle  hard  with  savage  earnest- 
ness. "  You  can  swear  me,  boss  ;  I  would  n't 
lie  to  a  gentleman  like  you.  Your  man 
has  n't  half  looked,  or  else  —  it  must  be 
there,  or"  — 

"  That 's  just  it,"  said  Sleight  slowly ; 
"  who  's  to  know  that  your  friends  have  n't 
been  there  already  —  that  seems  to  have  been 
your  style." 

"  But  no  one  knew  it  but  me,  until  I  told 
you,  I  swear  to  God.  I  ain't  lying,  boss, 
and  I  ain't  drunk.  Say  —  don't  give  it  up, 
boss.  That  man  of  yours  likely  don't  be- 
lieve it,  because  he  don't  know  anything 
about  it.  I  do  —  /could  find  it." 

A  silence  followed.  Mr.  Sleight  remained 
completely  absorbed  in  his  papers  for  some 
moments.  Then  glancing  at  the  Lascar,  he 
took  his  pen,  wrote  a  hurried  note,  folded  it, 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  185 

addressed  it,  and,  holding  it  between  his  fin- 
gers, leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"  If  you  choose  to  take  this  note  to  my 
man,  he  may  give  it  another  show.  Mind,  I 
don't  say  that  he  will.  He  's  going  to  Sacra- 
mento to-night,  but  you  could  go  down  there 
and  find  him  before  he  starts.  He 's  got  a 
room  there,  I  believe.  While  you  're  waiting 
for  him,  you  might  keep  your  eyes  open  to 
satisfy  yourself." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  said  the  sailor,  eagerly  en- 
deavoring to  catch  the  eye  of  his  employer. 
But  Mr.  Sleight  looked  straight  before  him, 
and  he  turned  to  go. 

"  The  Sacramento  boat  goes  at  nine,"  said 
Mr.  Sleight  quietly. 

This  time  their  glances  met,  and  the  Las- 
car's eye  glistened  with  subtle  intelligence. 
The  next  moment  he  was  gone,  and  Mr. 
Sleight  again  became  absorbed  in  his  papers. 

Meanwhile  Renshaw  was  making  his  way 
back  to  the  Pontiac  with  that  light-hearted 
optimism  that  had  characterized  his  part- 


186  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

ing  with  Sleight.  It  was  this  quality  of  his 
nature,  fostered  perhaps  by  the  easy  civiliza- 
tion in  which  he  moved,  that  had  originally 
drawn  him  into  relations  with  the  man  he 
just  quitted ;  a  quality  that  had  been  troubled 
and  darkened  by  those  relations,  yet,  when 
they  were  broken,  at  once  returned.  It  con- 
sequently did  not  occur  to  him  that  he  had 
only  selfishly  compromised  with  the  difficul- 
ty ;  it  seemed  to  him  enough  that  he  had 
withdrawn  from  a  compact  he  thought  dis- 
honorable ;  he  was  not  called  upon  to  betray 
his  partner  in  that  compact  merely  to  benefit 
others.  He  had  been  willing  to  incur  sus- 
picion and  loss  to  reinstate  himself  in  his 
self-respect,  more  he  could  not  do  without 
justifying  that  suspicion.  The  view  taken 
by  Sleight  was,  after  all,  that  which  most 
business  men  would  take  —  which  even  the 
unbusiness-like  Nott  would  take  —  which  the 
girl  herself  might  be  tempted  to  listen  to. 
Clearly  he  could  do  nothing  but  abandon  the 
Pontiac  and  her  owner  to  the  fate  he  could 


A  SHIP  OF  >49.  187 

not  in  honor  avert.  And  even  that  fate  was 
problematical.  It  did  not  follow  that  the 
treasure  was  still  concealed  in  the  Pontiac, 
nor  that  Nott  would  be  willing  to  sell  her. 
He  would  make  some  excuse  to  Nott  —  he 
smiled  to  think  he  would  probably  be  classed 
in  the  long  line  of  absconding  tenants  —  he 
would  say  good-by  to  Rosey,  and  leave  for 
Sacramento  that  night.  He  ascended  the 
stairs  to  the  gangway  with  a  freer  breast 
than  when  he  first  entered  the  ship. 

Mr.  Nott  was  evidently  absent,  and  after 
a  quick  glance  at  the  half-open  cabin  door, 
Renshaw  turned  towards  the  galley.  But 
Miss  Rosey  was  not  in  her  accustomed  haunt, 
and  with  a  feeling  of  disappointment,  which 
seemed  inconsistent  with  so  slight  a  cause, 
he  crossed  the  deck  impatiently  and  entered 
his  room.  He  was  about  to  close  the  door 
when  the  prolonged  rustle  of  a  trailing  skirt 
in  the  passage  attracted  his  attention.  The 
sound  was  so  unlike  that  made  by  any  gar- 
ment worn  by  Rosey  that  he  remained  mo- 


188  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

tionless,  with  his  hand  on  the  door.  The 
sound  approached  nearer,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment a  white  veiled  figure  with  a  trailing 
skirt  slowly  swept  past  the  room.  Renshaw's 
pulses  halted  for  an  instant  in  half  supersti- 
tious awe.  As  the  apparition  glided  on  and 
vanished  in  the  cabin  door  he  could  only  see 
that  it  was  the  form  of  a  beautiful  and 
graceful  woman  —  but  nothing  more.  Be- 
wildered and  curious,  he  forgot  himself  so 
far  as  to  follow  it,  and  impulsively  entered 
the  cabin.  The  figure  turned,  uttered  a  lit- 
tle cry,  threw  the  veil  aside,  and  showed  the 
half  troubled,  half  blushing  face  of  Rosey. 

"I  —  beg  —  your  pardon,"  stammered 
Renshaw ;  "  I  did  n't  know  it  was  you." 

"  I  was  trying  on  some  things,"  said  Ro- 
sey, recovering  her  composure  and  pointing 
to  an  open  trunk  that  seemed  to  contain  a 
theatrical  wardrobe  —  "  some  things  father 
gave  me  long  ago.  I  wanted  to  see  if  there 
was  anything  I  could  use.^  I  thought  I  was 
all  alone  in  the  ship,  but  fancying  I  heard  a 


A   SHIP   OF  '49.  189 

noise  forward  I  came  out  to  see  what  it  was. 
I  suppose  it  must  have  been  you." 

She  raised  her  clear  eyes  to  his,  with  a 
slight  touch  of  womanly  reserve  that  was  so 
incompatible  with  any  vulgar  vanity  or  girl- 
ish coquetry  that  he  became  the  more  embar- 
rassed. Her  dress,  too,  of  a  slightly  antique 
shape,  rich  but  simple,  seemed  to  reveal  and 
accent  a  certain  repose  of  gentlewomanli- 
ness,  that  he  was  now  wishing  to  believe  he 
had  always  noticed.  Conscious  of  a  superi- 
ority in  her  that  now  seemed  to  change  their 
relations  completely,  he  alone  remained  si- 
lent, awkward,  and  embarrassed  before  the 
girl  who  had  taken  care  of  his  room,  and 
who  cooked  in  the  galley!  What  he  had 
thoughtlessly  considered  a  merely  vulgar 
business  intrigue  against  her  stupid  father, 
now  to  his  extravagant  fancy  assumed  the 
proportions  of  a  sacrilege  to  herself. 

"  You  've  had  your  revenge,  Miss  Nott, 
for  the  fright  I  once  gave  you,"  he  said  a 
little  uneasily,  "for  you-  quite  startled  me 


190  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

just  now  as  you  passed.  I  began  to  think 
the  Pontiac  was  haunted.  I  thought  you 
were  a  ghost.  I  don't  know  why  such  a 
ghost  should  frighten  anybody,"  he  went  on 
with  a  desperate  attempt  to  recover  his  po- 
sition by  gallantry.  "  Let  me  see  —  that 's 
Donna  Elvira's  dress  —  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  that  was  the  poor  woman's 
name,"  said  Rosey  simply;  "she  died  of 
yellow  fever  at  New  Orleans  as  Signora 
somebody." 

Her  ignorance  seemed  to  Mr.  Renshaw  so 
plainly  to  partake  more  of  the  nun  than  the 
provincial  that  he  hesitated  to  explain  to 
her  that  he  meant  the  heroine  of  an  opera. 

"It  seems  dreadful  to  put  on  the  poor 
thing's  clothes,  does  n't  it  ?  "  she  added. 

Mr.  Renshaw' s  eyes  showed  so  plainly 
that  he  thought  otherwise,  that  she  drew  a 
little  austerely  towards  the  door  of  her  state- 
room. 

"  I  must  change  these  things  before  any 
one  comes,"  she  said  dryly. 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  191 

"  That  means  I  must  go,  I  suppose.  But 
could  n't  you  let  me  wait  here  or  in  the 
gang-way  until  then,  Miss  Nott  ?  I  am  go- 
ing away  to-night,  and  I  may  n't  see  you 
again."  He  had  not  intended  to  say  this, 
but  it  slipped  from  his  embarrassed  tongue. 
She  stopped  with  her  hand  on  the  door. 

"  You  are  going  away  ?  " 

"I  —  think  —  I  must  leave  to-night.  I 
have  some  important  business  in  Sacra- 
mento." 

She  raised  her  frank  eyes  to  his.  The  un- 
mistakable look  of  disappointment  that  he 
saw  in  them  gave  his  heart  a  sudden  throb 
and  sent  the  quick  blood  to  his  cheeks. 

"  It 's  too  bad,"  she  said,  abstractedly. 
"  Nobody  ever  seems  to  stay  here  long.  Cap- 
tain IJower  promised  to  tell  me  all  about 
the  ship  and  he  went  away  the  second  week. 
The  photographer  left  before  he  finished  the 
picture  of  the  Pontiac ;  Monsieur  de  Fer- 
rieres  has  only  just  gone,  and  now  you  are 
going." 


192  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

"  Perhaps,  unlike  them,  I  have  finished 
my  season  of  usefulness  here,"  he  replied, 
with  a  bitterness  he  would  have  recalled  the 
next  moment.  But  Rosey,  with  a  faint 
sigh,  saying,  "  I  won't  be  long,"  entered  the 
state-room  and  closed  the  door  behind  her 

Eenshaw  bit  his  lip  and  pulled  at  the  long 
silken  threads  of  his  moustache  until  they 
smarted.  Why  had  he  not  gone  at  once  ? 
Why  was  it  necessary  to  say  he  might  not 
see  her  again  —  and  if  he  had  said  it,  why 
should  he  add  anything  more  ?  What  was 
he  waiting  for  now  ?  To  endeavor  to  prove 
to  her  that  he  really  bore  no  resemblance  to 
Captain  Bower,  the  photographer,  the  crazy 
Frenchman  de  Ferrieres  ?  Or  would  he  be 
forced  to  tell  her  that  he  was .  running  away 
from  a  conspiracy  to  defraud  her  father  — 
merely  for  something  to  say?  Was  there 
ever  such  folly  ?  Rosey  was  "  not  long,"  as 
she  had  said,  but  he  was  beginning  to  pace 
the  narrow  cabin  impatiently  when  the  door 
opened  and  she  returned. 


A  SHIP   OF  '49.  193 

She  had  resumed  her  ordinary  calico  gown, 
but  such  was  the  impression  left  upon  Ren- 
shaw's  fancy  that  she  seemed  to  wear  it  with 
a  new  grace.  At  any  other  time  he  might 
have  recognized  the  change  as  due  to  a  new 
corset,  which  strict  veracity  compels  me  to 
record  Rosey  had  adopted  for  the  first  time 
that  morning.  Howbeit,  her  slight  coquetry 
seemed  to  have  passed,  for  she  closed  the 
open  trunk  with  a  return  of  her  old  listless 
air,  and  sitting  on  it  rested  her  elbows  on 
her  knees  and  her  oval  chin  in  her  hands. 

"  I  wish  you  would  do  me  a  favor,"  she 
said  after  a  reflective  pause. 

"  Let  me  know  what  it  is  and  it  shall  be 
done,"  replied  Renshaw  quickly. 

"  If  you  should  come  across  Monsieur  de 
Ferrieres,  or  hear  of  him,  I  wish  you  would 
let  me  know.  He  was  very  poorly  when  he 
left  here,  and  I  should  like  to  know  if  he 
was  better.  He  did  n't  say  where  he  was 
going.  At  least,  he  did  n't  tell  father ;  but 
I  fancy  he  and  father  don't  agree." 


194  A  SHIP  OF  >49. 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  of  having  even  that 
opportunity  of  making  you  remember  me, 
Miss  Nott,"  returned  Eenshaw  with  a  faint 
smile  ;  "  I  don't  suppose  either  that  it  would 
be  very  difficult  to  get  news  of  your  friend 
—  everybody  seems  to  know  him." 

"  But  not  as  I  did,"  said  Rosey  with  an 
abstracted  little  sigh. 

Mr.  Renshaw  opened  his  brown  eyes  upon 
her.  Was  he  mistaken  ?  Was  this  romantic 
girl  only  a  little  coquette  playing  her  pro- 
vincial airs  on  him  ?  "  You  say  he  and  your 
father  did  n't  agree  ?  That  means,  I  sup- 
pose, that  you  and  he  agreed?  —  and  that 
was  the  result." 

"  I  don't  think  father  knew  anything 
about  it,"  said  Rosey  simply. 

Mr.  Renshaw  rose.  And  this  was  what  he 
had  been  waiting  to  hear  !  "  Perhaps,"  he 
said  grimly,  "you  would  also  like  news  of 
the  photographer  and  Captain  Bower,  or  did 
your  father  agree  with  them  better  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Rosey  quietly.     She  remained 


A  SHIP  OF  >49.  195 

silent  for  a  moment,  and  lifting  her  lashes 
said,  "  Father  always  seemed  to  agree  with 
you,  and  that  "  —  she  hesitated. 

"  That 's  why  you  don't." 

"  I  did  n't  say  that,"  said  Rosey  with  an 
incongruous  increase  of  coldness  and  color. 
"I  only  meant  to  say  it  was  that  which 
makes  it  seem  so  hard  you  should  go  now." 

Notwithstanding  his  previous  determina- 
tion Renshaw  found  himself  sitting  down 
again.  Confused  and  pleased,  wishing  he 
had  said  more  —  or  less  —  he  said  nothing, 
and  Rosey  was  forced  to  continue. 

"  It 's  strange,  is  n't  it  —  but  father  was 
urging  me  this  morning  to  make  a  visit  to 
some  friends  at  the  old  Ranch.  I  didn't 
want  to  go.  I  like  it  much  better  here." 

"  But  you  cannot  bury  yourself  here  for- 
ever, Miss  Nott,"  said  Renshaw  with  a  sud- 
den burst  of  honest  enthusiasm.  "  Sooner 
or  later  you  will  be  forced  to  go  where  you 
will  be  properly  appreciated,  where  you  will 
be  admired  and  courted,  where  your  slight- 


196  A   SHIP  OF  >49. 

est  wish  will  be  law.  Believe  me,  without 
flattery,  you  don't  know  your  own  power." 

"  It  does  n't  seem  strong  enough  to  keep 
even  the  little  I  like  here,"  said  Eosey  with 
a  slight  glistening  of  the  eyes.  "  But,"  she 
added  hastily,  "  you  don't  know  how  much 
the  dear  old  ship  is  to  me.  It 's  the  only 
home  I  think  I  ever  had." 

"  But  the  Ranch  ?  "  said  Eenshaw. 

"  The  Ranch  seemed  to  be  only  the  old 
wagon  halted  in  the  road.  It  was  a  very 
little  improvement  on  out  doors,"  said  Rosey 
with  a  little  shiver.  "  But  this  is  so  cozy 
and  snug  and  yet  so  strange  and  foreign. 
Do  you  know  I  think  I  began  to  understand 
why  I  like  it  so  since  you  taught  me  so 
much  about  ships  and  voyages.  Before 
that  I  only  learned  from  books.  Books 
deceive  you,  I  think,  more  than  people  do. 
Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

She  evidently  did  not  notice  the  quick 
flush  that  covered  his  cheeks  and  apparently 
dazzled  his  troubled  eyelids,  for  she  went  on 
confidentially. 


A   SHIP   OF  '49.  197 

"  I  was  thinking  of  you  yesterday.  I  was 
sitting  by  the  galley  door,  looking  forward. 
You  remember  the  first  day  I  saw  you  when 
you  startled  me  by  coming  up  out  of  the 
hatch  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  would  n't  think  of  that,"  said 
Renshaw,  with  more  earnestness  than  he 
would  have  made  apparent. 

"  /  don't  want  to  either,"  said  Rosey, 
gravely,  "  for  I  've  had  a  strange  fancy  about 
it.  I  saw  once  when  I  was  younger,  a  pic- 
ture in  a  print  shop  in  Montgomery  Street 
that  haunted  me.  I  think  it  was  called 
'  The  Pirate.'  There  was  a  number  of 
wicked  -  looking  sailors  lying  around  the 
deck,  and  coming  out  "of  a  hatch  was  one 
figure  with  his  hands  on  the  deck  and  a  cut- 
lass in  his  mouth." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Renshaw. 

"  You  don't  understand.  He  was  horrid- 
looking,  not  at  all  like  you.  I  never  thought 
of  him  when  I  first  saw  you ;  but  the  other 
day  I  thought  how  dreadful  it  would  have 


198  A  SHIP   OF  >49. 

been  if  some  one  like  him  and  not  like  you 
had  come  up  then.  That  made  me  nervous 
sometimes  of  being  alone.  I  think  father  is 
too.  He  often  goes  about  stealthily  at  night, 
as  if  he  was  watching  for  something." 

Renshaw's  face  grew  suddenly  dark. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  Sleight  had  always 
suspected  him,  and  set  spies  to  watch  —  or 
was  he  guilty  of  some  double  intrigue  ? 

"  He  thinks,"  continued  Rosey  with  a 
faint  smile,  "  that  some  one  is  looking  around 
the  ship,  and  talks  of  setting  bear-traps.  I 
hope  you  're  not  mad,  Mr.  Renshaw,"  she 
added,  suddenly  catching  sight  of  his  changed 
expression,  "  at  my  foolishness  in  saying 
you  reminded  me  of  the  pirate.  I  meant 
nothing." 

"  I  know  you  're  incapable  of  meaning 
anything  but  good  to  anybody,  Miss  Nott, 
perhaps  to  me  more  than  I  deserve,"  said 
Renshaw  with  a  sudden  burst  of  feeling. 
"  I  wish  —  I  wish  —  you  would  do  me  a  fa- 
vor. You  asked  me  one  just  now."  He 


A  SHIP   OF  '49.  199 

had  taken  her  hand.  It  seemed  so  like  a 
mere  illustration  of  his  earnestness,  that  she 
did  not  withdraw  it.  "  Your  father  tells 
you  everything.  If  he  has  any  offer  to  dis- 
pose of  the  ship,  will  you  write  to  me  at 
once  before  anything  is  concluded  ?  "  He 
winced  a  little  —  the  sentence  of  Sleight, 
"  What  's  the  figure  you  and  she  have  set- 
tled upon  ?  "  flashed  across  his  mind.  He 
scarcely  noticed  that  Rosey  had  withdrawn 
her  hand  coldly. 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  speak  to  father, 
as  it  is  Ms  business.  Besides,  I  shall  not  be 
here.  I  shall  be  at  the  Kanch." 

"  But  you  said  you  did  n't  want  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  've  changed  my  mind,"  said  Rosey  list- 
lessly. "  I  shall  go  to-night." 

She  rose  as  if  to  indicate  that  the  inter- 
view was  ended.  With  an  overpowering 
instinct  that  his  whole  future  happiness 
depended  upon  his  next  act,  he  made  a  step 
towards  her,  with  eager  outstretched  hands. 
But  she  slightly  lifted  her  own  with  a  warn- 


200  A   SHIP   OF  '49. 

ing  gesture,  "  I  hear  father  coining  —  you 

will  have  a  chance  to  talk  business   with 

him,"  she  said,  and  vanished  into  her  state- 
room. 

VI. 

The  heavy  tread  of  Abner  Nott  echoed  in 
the  passage.  Confused  and  embarrassed, 
Renshaw  remained  standing  at  the  door  that 
had  closed  upon  Rosey  as  her  father  entered 
the  cabin.  Providence,  which  always  fos- 
tered Mr.  Nott's  characteristic  misconcep- 
tions, left  that  perspicacious  parent  but  one 
interpretation  of  the  situation.  Rosey  had 
evidently  just  informed  Mr.  Renshaw  that 
she  loved  another ! 

"I  was  just  saying  'good -by'  to  Miss 
Nott,"  said  Renshaw,  hastily  regaining  his 
composure  with  an  effort.  "  I  am  going  to 
Sacramento  to-night,  and  will  not  return. 
I"  — 

"  In  course,  in  course,"  interrupted  Nott, 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  201 

soothingly ;  "  that 's  wot  you  say  now,  and 
that 's  what  you  allow  to  do.  That 's  wot 
they  allus  do." 

"I  mean,"  said  Renshaw,  reddening  at 
what  he  conceived  to  be  an  allusion  to  the 
absconding  propensities  of  Nott's  previous 
tenants,  —  "I  mean  that  you  shall  keep  the 
advance  to  cover  any  loss  you  might  suffer 
through  my  giving  up  the  rooms." 

"  Certingly,"  said  Nott,  laying  his  hand 
with  a  large  sympathy  on  Renshaw' s  shoul- 
der ;  "  but  we  '11  drop  that  just  now.  We 
won't  swap  hosses  in  the  middle  of  the  river. 
We  '11  square  up  accounts  in  your  room,"  he 
added,  raising  his  voice  that  Rosey  might 
overhear  him,  after  a  preliminary  wink  at 
the  young  man.  "  Yes,  sir,  we  '11  just  square 
up  and  settle  in  there.  Come  along,  Mr. 
Renshaw."  Pushing  him  with  paternal  gen- 
tleness from  the  cabin,  with  his  hand  still 
upon  his  shoulder,  he  followed  him  into  the 
passage.  Half  annoyed  at  his  familiarity, 
yet  not  altogether  displeased  by  this  illus- 


202  A   SHIP   OF  '49. 

tration  of  Rosey's  belief  of  Ms  preference, 
Renshaw  wonderingly  accompanied  him. 
Nott  closed  the  door,  and  pushing  the  young 
man  into  a  chair,  deliberately  seated  himself 
at  the  table  opposite.  "  It 's  just  as  well 
that  Rosey  reckons  that  you  and  me  is  set- 
tlin'  our  accounts,"  he  began,  cunningly, 
"  and  mebbee  it 's  just  ez  well  ez  she  should 
reckon  you  're  goin'  away." 

"  But  I  am  going,"  interrupted  Renshaw, 
impatiently.  "  I  leave  to-night." 

"Surely,  surely,"  said  Nott,  gently,  "that's 
wot  you  kalkilate  to  do ;  that 's  just  nat'ral 
•  in  a  young  feller.  That 's  about  what  I 
reckon  I  'd  hev  done  to  her  mother  if  any- 
thin'  like  this  hed  ever  cropped  up,  which  it 
didn't.  Not  but  what  Almiry  Jane  had 
young  fellers  enough  round  her,  but,  'cept 
ole  Judge  Peter,  ez  was  lamed  in  the  War  of 
1812,  there  ain't  no  similarity  ez  I  kin  see," 
he  added,  musingly. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  can't  see  any  similarity 
either,  Mr.  Nott,"  said  Renshaw,  struggling 


A  SHIP   OF  >49.  203 

between  a  dawning  sense  of  some  impending 
absurdity  and  his  growing  passion  for  Rosey. 
"  For  Heaven's  sake  speak  out  if  you  've  got 
anything  to  say." 

Mr,  Nott  leaned  forward,  and  placed  his 
large  hand  on  the  young  man's  shoulder. 
"  That 's  it.  That 's  what  I  sed  to  myself 
when  I  seed  how  things  were  pintin'. 
6  Speak  out,'  sez  I,  '  Abner  !  Speak  out  if 
you  Ve  got  anything  to  say.  You  kin  trust 
this  yer  Mr.  Renshaw.  He  ain't  the  kind 
of  man  to  creep  into  the  bosom  of  a  man's 
ship  for  pupposes  of  his  own.  He  ain't  a 
man  that  would  hunt  round  until  he  dis- 
covered a  poor  man's  treasure,  and  then  try 
to  rob  '  "— 

"  Stop ! "  said  Renshaw,  with  a  set  face 
and  darkening  eyes.  "  What  treasure  ?  what 
man  are  you  speaking  of  ?  " 

"  Why  Rosey  and  Mr.  Ferrers,"  returned 
Nott,  simply. 

Renshaw  sank  into  his  seat  again.  But 
the  expression  of  relief  which  here  passed 


204  A  SHIP   OF  '49. 

swiftly  over  his   face  gave  way  to  one  of 
uneasy  interest  as  Nott  went  on. 

"  P'r'aps  it 's  a  little  high  f  alutin'  talkin' 
of  Rosey  ez  a  treasure.  But,  considering  Mr. 
Renshaw,  ez  she 's  the  only  prop'ty  I  've  kept 
by  me  for  seventeen  years  ez  hez  paid  inter- 
est and  increased  in  valooe,  it  ain't  sayin'  too 
much  to  call  her  so.  And  ez  Ferrers  knows 
this,  he  oughter  been  content  with  gougin' 
me  in  that  horse-hair  spec,  without  goin'  for 
Eosey.  P'r'aps  yer  surprised  at  hearing  me 
speak  o'  my  own  flesh  and  blood  ez  if  I  was 
talkin'  hoss-trade,  but  you  and  me  is  bus'ness 
men,  Mr.  Renshaw,  and  we  discusses  ez  such. 
We  ain't  goin'  to  slosh  round  and  slop  over 
in  po'try  and  sentiment,"  continued  Nott, 
with  a  tremulous  voice,  and  .a  hand  that 
slightly  shook  on  Eenshaw's  shoulder.  "  We 
ain't  goin'  to  git  up  and  sing,  i  Thou  'st 
larned  to  love  another  thou  'st  broken  every 
vow  we  Ve  parted  from  each  other  and  my 
bozom  's  lonely  now  oh  is  it  well  to  sever 
such  hearts  as  ourn  for  ever  kin  I  forget 


A  SHIP  OF  >49.  205 

thee  never  farewell  farewell  farewell.'  Ye 
never  happen'd  to  hear  Jim  Baker  sing 
that  at  the  moosic  hall  on  Dupont  Street, 
Mr.  Kenshaw,"  continued  Mr.  Nott,  enthu- 
siastically, when  he  had  recovered  from  that 
complete  absence  of  punctuation  which  alone 
suggested  verse  to  his  intellect.  "  He  sorter 
struck*  water  down  here,"  indicating  his 
heart,  "  every  time." 

"  But  what  has  Miss  Nott  to  do  with  M. 
de  Ferrieres  ?  "  asked  Renshaw,  with  a  faint 
smile. 

Mr.  Nott  regarded  him  with  dumb,  round, 
astonished  eyes.  "  Hez  n't  she  told  yer  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  And  she  did  n't  let  on  anythin'  about 
him  ?  "  he  continued,  feebly. 

"  She  said  she  'd  liked  to  know  where  "  — 
He  stopped,  with  the  reflection  that  he  was 
betraying  her  confidences. 

A  dim  foreboding  of  some  new  form  of 
deceit,  to  which  even  the  man  before  him 
was  a  consenting  party,  almost  paralyzed 


206  A  SHIP   OF  >49. 

Nott's  faculties.  "  Then  she  did  n't  tell  yer 
that  she  and  Ferrers  was  sparkin'  and  keepin' 
kimpany  together ;  that  she  and  him  was 
engaged,  and  was  kalkilatin'  to  run  away  to 
f urrin  parts ;  that  she  cottoned  to  him  more 
than  to  the  ship  or  her  father  ?  " 

"  She  certainly  did  not,  and  I  should  n't 
believe  it,"  said  Renshaw,  quickly.  • 

Nott  smiled.  He  was  amused;  he  as- 
tutely recognized  the  usual  trustfulness  of 
love  and  youth.  There  was  clearly  no  deceit 
here !  Renshaw' s  attentive  eyes  saw  the 
smile,  and  his  brow  darkened. 

"  I  like  to  hear  yer  say  that,  Mr.  Ren- 
shaw," said  Nott,  "and  it's  no  more%than 
Rosey  deserves,  ez  it 's  suthing  onnat'ral  and 
spell-like  that 's  come  over  her. through  Fer- 
rers. It  ain't  my  Rosey.  But  it 's  Gospel 
truth,  whether  she 's  bewitched  or  not ; 
whether  it 's  them  damn  fool  stories  she 
reads  —  and  it 's  like  ez  not  he 's  just  the 
kind  o'  snipe  to  write  'em  hisself,  and  sorter 
advertise  hisself,  don't  yer  see  —  she 's  allus 


A  SHIP   OF  >49.  207 

stuck  up  for  him.  They  Ve  had  clandesent 
interviews,  and  when  I  taxed  him  with  it 
he  ez  much  ez  allowed  it  was  so,  and  reck- 
oned he  must  leave,  so  ez  he  could  run  her 
off,  you  know  —  kinder  stampede  her  with 
4  honor.'  Them  's  his  very  words." 

"  But  that  is  all  past ;  he  is  gone,  and 
Miss  Nott  does  not  even  know  where  he  is  ! " 
said  Renshaw,  with  a  laugh,  which,  however, 
concealed  a  vague  uneasiness. 

Mr.  Nott  rose  and  opened  the  door  care- 
fully. When  he  had  satisfied  himself  that 
no  one  was  listening,  he  came  back  and  said 
in  a  whisper,  "  That 's  a  lie.  Not  ez  Rosey 
means  to  lie,  but  it 's  a  trick  he  's  put  upon 
that  poor  child.  That  man,  Mr.  Renshaw, 
hez  been  hangin'  round  the  Pontiac  ever 
since.  I  Ve  seed  him  twice  with  my  own 
eyes  pass  the  cabin  windys.  More  than  that, 
I  've  heard  strange  noises  at  night,  and  seen 
strange  faces  in  the  alley  over  yer.  And 
only  jist  now  ez  I  kem  in  I  ketched  sight  of 
a  f  urrin  lookin'  Chinee  nigger  slinking  round 


208  A  snip 


OF  '49. 


the  back  door  of  what  useter  be  Ferrers's 
loft." 

"  Did  he  look  like  a  sailor  ?  "  asked  Ren- 
shaw  quickly,  with  a  return  of  his  former 
suspicion. 

"  Not  more  than  I  do,"  said  Nott,  glancing 
complacently  at  his  pea-jacket.  "He  had 
rings  on  his  yeers  like  a  wench." 

Mr.  Renshaw  started.  But  seeing  Nott's 
eyes  fixed  on  him,  he  said  lightly,  "  But  what 
have  these  strange  faces  and  this  strange 
man  —  probably  only  a  Lascar  sailor  out 
of  a  job  —  to  do  with  FerriSres  ?  " 

"  Friends  o'  his  —  feller  furrin  citizens  — 
spies  on  Rosey,  don't  you  see?  But  they 
can't  play  the  old  man,  Mr.  Renshaw.  I  've 
told  Rosey  she  must  make  a  visit  to  the  old 
Ranch.  Once  I  've  got  her  ther  safe,  I  reckon 
I  kin  manage  Mr.  Ferrers  and  any  number 
of  Chinee  niggers  he  kin  bring  along." 

Renshaw  remained  for  a  few  moments  lost 
in  thought.  Then  rising  suddenly  he  grasped 
Mr.  Nott's  hand  with  a  frank  smile  but  de- 


A  SHIP   OF  '49.  209 

termined  eyes.  "  I  have  n't  got  the  hang  of 
this,  Mr.  Nott  —  the  whole  thing  gets  me !  I 
only  know  that  I  've  changed  my  mind.  I  'm 
not  going  to  Sacramento.  I  shall  stay  here, 
old  man,  until  I  see  you  safe  through  the 
business,  or  my  name  's  not  Dick  Renshaw. 
There 's  my  hand  on  it !  Don't  say  a  word. 
Maybe  it  is  no  more  than  I  ought  to  do  — 
perhaps  not  half  enough.  Only  remember, 
not  a  word  of  this  to  your  daughter.  She 
must  believe  that  I  leave  to-night.  And  the 
sooner  you  get  her  out  of  this  cursed  ship 
the  better." 

"  Deacon  Flint's  girls  are  goin'  up  in  to- 
night's boat.  I  '11  send  Rosey  with  them," 
said  Nott  with  a  cunning  twinkle.  Renshaw 
nodded.  Nott  seized  his  hand  with  a  wink 
of  unutterable  significance. 

Left  to  himself  Renshaw  tried  to  review 
more  calmly  the  circumstances  in  these 
strange  revelations  that  had  impelled  him  to 
change  his  resolution  so  suddenly.  That  the 
ship  was  under  the  surveillance  of  unknown 


210  A  SHIP   OF  >49. 

parties,  and  that  the  description  of  them 
tallied  with  his  own  knowledge  of  a  certain 
Lascar  sailor,  who  was  one  of  Sleight's  in- 
formants—  seemed  to  be  more  than  proba- 
ble. That  this  seemed  to  point  to  Sleight's 
disloyalty  to  himself  while  he  was  acting 
as  his  agent,  or  a  double  treachery  on  the 
part  of  Sleight's  informants,  was  in  either 
case  a  reason  and  an  excuse  for  his  own 
interference.  But  the  connection  of  the 
absurd  Frenchman  with  the  case,  which  at 
first  seemed  a  characteristic  imbecility  of 
his  landlord,  bewildered  him  the  more  he 
thought  of  it.  Rejecting  any  hypothesis  of 
the  girl's  affection  for  the  antiquated  figure 
whose  sanity  was  a  question  of  public  criti- 
cism, he  was  forced  to  the  equally  alarming 
theory  that  Ferri£res  was  cognizant  of  the 
treasure,  and  that  his  attentions  to  Rosey 
were  to  gain  possession  of  it  by  marrying 
her.  Might  she  not  be  dazzled  by  a  picture 
of  this  wealth?  Was  is  not  possible  that 
she  was  already  in  part  possession  of  the 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  211 

secret,  and  her  strange  attraction  to  the  ship, 
and  what  he  had  deemed  her  innocent  crav- 
ing for  information  concerning  it,  a  conse- 
quence ?  Why  had  he  not  thought  of  this 
before  ?  Perhaps  she  had  detected  his  pur- 
pose from  the  first,  and  had  deliberately 
checkmated  him.  The  thought  did  not  in- 
crease his  complacency  as  Nott  softly  re- 
turned. 

"  It 's  all  right,"  he  began  with  a  certain 
satisfaction  in  this  rare  opportunity  for 
Machiavellian  diplomacy,  "  it 's  all  fixed  now. 
Rosey  tumbled  to  it  at  once,  partiklerly  when 
I  said  you  was  bound  to  go.  'But  wot 
makes  Mr.  Renshaw  go,  father,'  sez  she  ; 
'wot  makes  everybody  run  away  from  the 
ship  ? '  sez  she,  rather  peart  like  and  sassy 
for  her.  '  Mr.  Renshaw  hez  contractin'  busi- 
ness,' sez  I ;  '  got  a  big  thing  up  in  Sacra- 
mento that  '11  make  his  fortun','  sez  I  —  for 
I  was  n't  goin'  to  give  yer  away,  don't  ye  see. 
'  He  had  some  business  to  talk  to  you  about 
the  ship,'  sez  she,  lookin'  at  me  under  the 


212  A  SHIP  OF  >49. 

corner  of  her  pocket  handkerchief.  '  Lots 
o'  business,'  sez  I.  '  Then  I  reckon  he  don't 
care  to  hev  me  write  to  him,'  sez  she.  '  Not 
a  bit,'  sez  I,  '  he  would  n't  answer  ye  if  ye 
did.  Ye  '11  never  hear  from  that  chap  agin.'  " 

"  But  what  the  devil  "  —  interrupted  the 
young  man  impetuously. 

"Keep  yer  hair  on!"  remonstrated  the 
old  man  with  dark  intelligence.  "  Ef  you  'd 
seen  the  way  she  flounced  into  her  state 
room !  —  she,  Rosey,  ez  allus  moves  ez  softly 
ez  a  spirit  —  you  'd  hev  wished  I  'd  hev  un- 
loaded a  little  more.  No  sir,  gals  is  gals  in 
some  things  all  the  time." 

Renshaw  rose  and  paced  the  room  rapidly. 
"  Perhaps  I  'd  better  speak  to  her  again  be- 
before  she  goes,"  he  said,  impulsively. 

"  P'r'aps  you  'd  better  not,"  replied  the 
imperturbable  Nott. 

Irritated  as  he  was,  Renshaw  could  not 
avoid  the  reflection  that  the  old  man  was 
right.  What,  indeed,  could  he  say  to  her 
with  his  present  imperfect  knowledge  ?  How 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  213 

could  she  write  to  him  if  that  knowledge  was 
correct  ? 

"  Ef,"  said  Nott,  kindly,  with  a  laying  on 
of  large  benedictory  and  paternal  hands, 
"  ef  yer  are  willin'  to  see  Rosey  agin,  with- 
out speakm'  to  her,  I  reckon  I  ken  fix  it  for 
yer.  I  'm  goin'  to  take  her  down  to  the  boat 
in  half  an  hour.  Ef  yer  should  happen  — 
mind,  .ef  yer  should  happen  to  be  down 
there,  seein'  some  friends  off  and  sorter 
promenadin'  up  and  down  the  wharf  like 
them  high-toned  chaps  on  Montgomery  Street 
—  ye  might  ketch  her  eye  unconscious  like. 
Or,  ye  might  do  this !  "  He  rose  after  a 
moment's  cogitation  and  with  a  face  of  pro- 
found mystery  opened  the  door  and  beckoned 
Renshaw  to  follow  him.  Leading  the  way 
cautiously,  he  brought  the  young  man  into 
an  open  unpartitioned  recess  beside  her  state 
room.  It  seemed  to  be*  used  as  a  store  room, 
and  Renshaw's  eye  was  caught  by  a  trunk 
the  size  and  shape  of  the  one  that  had  pro- 
vided Rosey  with  the  materials  of  her  mas- 


214  A  SHIP   OF  >49. 

querade.  Pointing  to  it  Mr.  Nott  said  in 
a  grave  whisper :  "  This  yer  trunk  is  the 
companion  trunk  to  Rosey's.  She  9s  got  the 
things  them  opery  women  wears ;  this  yer 
contains  the  he  things,  the  duds  and  fixin's 
o'  the  men  o'  the  same  stripe."  Throwing 
it  open  he  continued :  "  Now,  Mr.  Renshaw, 
gals  is  gals ;  it 's  nat'ral  they  should  be  took 
by  fancy  dress  and  store  clothes  on  young 
chaps  as  on  theirselves.  That  man  Ferrers 
hez  got  the  dead  wood  on  all  of  ye  in  this 
sort  of  thing,  and  hez  been  playing,  so  to 
speak,  a  lone  hand  all  along.  And  ef  thar  's 
anythin'  in  thar,"  he  added,  lifting  part  of 
a  theatrical  wardrobe,  "  that  you  think  you  'd 
fancy  —  anythin'  you  'd  like  to  put  on  when 
ye  promenade  the  wharf  down  yonder  —  it 's 
yours.  Don't  ye  be  bashful,  but  help  your- 
self." 

It  was  fully  a  minute  before  Renshaw 
fairly  grasped  the  old  man's  meaning.  But 
when  he  did  —  when  the  suggested  spectacle 
of  himself  arrayed  a  la  Ferrie'res,  gravely 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  215 

promenading  the  wharf  as  a  last  gorgeous 
appeal  to  the  affections  of  Rosey,  rose  be- 
fore his  fancy,  he  gave  way  to  a  fit  of  gen- 
uine laughter.  The  nervous  tension  of  the 
past  few  hours  relaxed  ;  he  laughed  until 
the  tears  came  into  his  eyes ;  he  was  still 
laughing  when  the  door  of  the  cabin  was 
suddenly  opened  and  Rosey  appeared  cold 
and  distant  on  the  threshold. 

"I  —  beg  your  pardon,"  stammered  Ren- 
shaw  hastily.  "  I  did  n't  mean  —  to  disturb 

yOU— I"  — 

Without  looking  at  him  Rosey  turned  to 
her  father,  "  I  am  ready,"  she  said  coldly, 
and  closed  the  door  again. 

A  glance  of  artful  intelligence  came  into 
Nott's  eyes,  which  had  remained  blankly 
staring  at  Renshaw's  apparently  causeless 
hilarity.  Turning  to  him  he  winked  sol- 
emnly. "  That  keerless  kind  o'  hoss  -  laff 
jist  fetched  her,"  he  whispered,  and  van- 
ished before  his  chagrined  companion  could 
reply. 


216  A  SHIP   OF  '49. 

When  Mr.  Nott  and  his  daughter  departed 
Renshaw  was  not  in  the  ship,  neither  did  he 
make  a  spectacular  appearance  on  the  wharf 
as  Mr.  Nott  had  fondly  expected,  nor  did  he 
turn  up  again  until  after  nine  o'clock,  when 
he  found  the  old  man  in  the  cabin  awaiting 
his  return  with  some  agitation.  "  A  minit 
ago,"  he  said,  mysteriously  closing  the  door 
behind  Renshaw,  "I  heard  a  voice  in  the 
passage,  and  goin'  out  who  should  I  see  agin 
but  that  darned  furrin  nigger  ez  I  told  yer 
'bout,  kinder  hidin'  in  the  dark,  his  eyes 
shinin'  like  a  catamount.  I  was  jist  reachin' 
for  my  weppins  when  he  riz  up  with  a  grin 
and  handed  me  this  yer  letter.  I  told  him 
I  reckoned  you  'd  gone  to  Sacramento,  but 
he  said  he  wez  sure  you  was  in  your  room, 
and  to  prove  it  I  went  thar.  But  when  I 

kem  back  the  d d  skunk  had  vamoosed 

—  got  frightened  I  reckon  —  and  was  n't 
nowhar  to  be  seen." 

Renshaw  took  the  letter  hastily.  It  con- 
tained only  a  line  in  Sleight's  hand.  "  If 


A   SHIP   OF  '49.  217 

you  change  your  mind,  the  bearer  may  be  of 
service  to  you." 

He  turned  abruptly  to  Nott.  "  You  say  it 
was  the  same  Lascar  you  saw  before  ?  " 

"  It  was." 

"  Then  all  I  can  say  is  he  is  no  agent  of 
de  Ferrieres's,"  said  Kenshaw,  turning  away 
with  a  disappointed  air.  Mr.  Nott  would 
have  asked  another  question,  but  with  an 
abrupt  "  Good-night "  the  young  man  en- 
tered his  room,  locked  the  door,  and  threw 
himself  on  his  bed  to  reflect  without  inter- 
ruption. 

But  if  he  was  in  no  mood  to  stand  No tt's 
fatuous  conjectures,  he  was  less  inclined  to 
be  satisfied  with  his  own.  Had  he  been 
again  carried  away  through  his  impulses 
evoked  by  the  caprices  of  a  pretty  coquette 
and  the  absurd  theories  of  her  half  imbecile 
father  ?  Had  he  broken  faith  with  Sleight 
and  remained  in  the  ship  for  nothing,  and 
would  not  his  change  of  resolution  appear 
to  be  the  result  of  Sleight's  note  ?  But  why 


218  A  SHIP  OF  >49. 

had  the  Lascar  been  haunting  the  ship  be- 
fore ?  In  the  midst  of  these  conjectures  he 
fell  asleep. 

vn. 

Between  three  and  four  in  the  morning 
the  clouds  broke  over  the  Pontiac,  and  the 
moon,  riding  high,  picked  out  in  black  and 
silver  the  long  hulk  that  lay  cradled  between 
the  iron  shells  of  warehouses  and  the  wooden 
frames  of  tenements  on  either  side.  The 
galley  and  covered  gangway  presented  a 
mass  of  undefined  shadow,  against  which  the 
white  deck  shone  brightly,  stretching  to  the 
forecastle  and  bows,  where  the  tiny  glass 
roof  of  the  photographer  glistened  like  a 
gem  in  the  Pontiac's  crest.  So  peaceful  and 
motionless  she  lay  that  she  might  have  been 
some  petrifaction  of  a  past  age  now  first  ex- 
humed and  laid  bare  to  the  cold  light  of  the 
stars. 

Nevertheless  this  calm  security  was  pres- 


A  SHIP   OF  '49.  219 

ently  invaded  by  a  sense  of  stealthy  life  and 
motion.  What  had  seemed  a  fixed  shadow 
suddenly  detached  itself  from  the  deck,  and 
began  to  slip  stanchion  by  stanchion  along 
the  bulwarks  toward  the  companion  way. 
At  the  cabin  door  it  halted  and  crouched 
motionless.  Then  rising,  it  glided  forward 
with  the  same  staccato  movement  until  op- 
posite the  slight  elevation  of  the  forehatch. 
Suddenly  it  darted  to  the  hatch,  unfastened 
and  lifted  it  with  a  swift,  familiar  dexterity, 
and  disappeared  in  the  opening.  But  as  the 
moon  shone  upon  its  vanishing  face,  it  re- 
vealed the  whitening  eyes  and  teeth  of  the 
Lascar  seaman. 

Dropping  to  the  lower  deck  lightly,  he 
felt  his  way  through  the  dark  passage  be- 
tween the  partitions,  evidently  less  familiar 
to  him,  halting  before  each  door  to  listen. 
Returning  forward  he  reached  the  second 
hatchway  that  had  attracted  Rosey's  atten- 
tion, and  noiselessly  unclosed  its  fastenings. 
A  penetrating  smell  of  bilge  arose  from  the 


220  A  SHIP   OF  '49. 

opening.  Drawing  a  small  bull's-eye  lantern 
from  his  breast  he  lit  it,  and  unhesitatingly 
let  himself  down  to  the  further  depth.  The 
moving  flash  of  his  light  revealed  the  re- 
cesses of  the  upper  hold,  the  abyss  of  the 
well  amidships,  and  glanced  from  the  shin- 
ing backs  of  moving  zigzags  of  rats  that 
seemed  to  outline  the  shadowy  beams  and 
transoms.  Disregarding  those  curious  spec- 
tators of  his  movements,  he  turned  his  at- 
tention  eagerly  to  the  inner  casings  of  the 
hold,  that  seemed  in  one  spot  to  have  been 
strengthened  by  fresh  timbers.  Attacking 
this  stealthily  with  the  aid  of  some  tools 
hidden  in  his  oil-skin  clothing,  in  the  light 
of  the  lantern  he  bore  a  fanciful  resemblance 
to  the  predatory  animals  around  him.  The 
low  continuous  sound  of  rasping  and  gnaw- 
ing of  timber  which  followed  heightened  the 
resemblance.  At  the  end  of  a  few  minutes 
he  had  succeeded  in  removing  enough  of  the 
outer  planking  to  show  that  the  entire  filling 
of  the  casing  between  the  stanchions  was 


A  SHIP  OF  >49.  221 

composed  of  small  boxes.  Dragging  out  one 
of  them  with  feverish  eagerness  to  the  light, 
the  Lascar  forced  it  open.  In  the  rays  of 
the  bull's-eye,  a  wedged  mass  of  discolored 
coins  show  with  a  lurid  glow.  The  story 
of  the  Pontiac  was  true  —  the  treasure  was 
there  ! 

But  Mr.  Sleight  had  overlooked  the  logical 
effect  of  this  discovery  on  the  natural  villainy 
of  his  tool.  In  the  very  moment  of  his  tri- 
umphant execution  of  his  patron's  sugges- 
tions the  idea  of  keeping  the  treasure  to 
himself  flashed  upon  his  mind.  He  had  dis- 
covered it  —  why  should  he  give  it  up  to 
anybody  ?  He  had  run  all  the  risks ;  if  he 
were  detected  at  that  moment,  who  would 
believe  that  his  purpose  there  at  midnight 
was  only  to  satisfy  some  one  else  that  the 
treasure  was  still  intact?  No.  The  circum- 
stances were  propitious;  he  would  get  the 
treasure  out  of  the  ship  at  once,  drop  it  over 
her  side,  hastily  conceal  it  in  the  nearest 
lot  adjacent,  and  take  it  away  at  his  con- 


222  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

venience.  —  Who  would  be  the  wiser  for 
it? 

But  it  was  necessary  to  reconnoitre  first. 
He  knew  that  the  loft  overhead  was  empty. 
He  knew  that  it  communicated  with  the 
alley,  for  he  had  tried  the  door  that  morn- 
ing. He  would  convey  the  treasure  there, 
and  drop  it  into  the  alley.  The  boxes  were 
heavy.  Each  one  would  require  a  separate 
journey  to  the  ship's  side,  but  he  would  at 
least  secure  something  if  he  were  inter- 
rupted. He  stripped  the  casing,  and  gath- 
ered the  boxes  together  in  a  pile. 

Ah,  yes,  it  was  funny  too  that  he  — 

the  Lascar  hound  —  the  d d  nigger  — 

should  get  what  bigger  and  bullier  men  than 
he  had  died  for!  The  mate's  blood  was  on 
those  boxes,  if  the  salt  water  had  not  washed 
it  out.  It  was  a  hell  of  a  fight  when  they 
dragged  the  captain  —  Oh,  what  was  that  ? 
Was  it  the  splash  of  a  rat  in  the  bilge,  or 
what? 

A  superstitious  terror  had  begun  to  seize 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  223 

him  at  the  thought  of  blctod.  The  stifling 
hold  seemed  again  filled  with  struggling  fig- 
ures he  had  known ;  the  air  thick  with  cries 
and  blasphemies  that  he  had  forgotten.  He 
rose  to  his  feet,  and  running  quickly  to  the 
hatchway,  leaped  to  the  deck  above.  All 
was  quiet.  The  door  leading  to  the  empty 
loft  yielded  to  his  touch.  He  entered,  and, 
gliding  through,  unbarred  and  opened  the 
door  that  gave  upon  the  alley.  The  cold 
air  and  moonlight  flowed  in  silently ;  the 
way  of  escape  was  clear.  Bah !  He  would 
go  back  for  the  treasure. 

He  had  reached  the  passage  when  the 
door  he  had  just  opened  was  suddenly  dark- 
ened. Turning  rapidly,  he  was  conscious  of 
a  gaunt  figure,  grotesque,  silent,  and  erect, 
looming  on  the  threshold  between  him  and 
the  sky.  Hidden  in  the  shadow,  he  made  a 
stealthy  step  towards  it,  with  an  iron  wrench 
in  his  uplifted  hand.  But  the  next  moment 
his  eyes  dilated  with  superstitious  horror; 
the  iron  fell  from  his  hand,  and  with  a 


224  A  SHIP   OF  '49. 

scream,  like  a  frightened  animal,  he  turned 
and  fled  into  the  passage.  In  the  first  access 
of  his  blind  terror  he  tried  to  reach  the  deck 
above  through  the  f  orehatch,  but  was  stopped 
by  the  sound  of  a  heavy  tread  overhead. 
The  immediate  fear  of  detection  now  over- 
came his  superstition ;  he  would  have  even 
faced  the  apparition  again  to  escape  through 
the  loft ;  but,  before  he  could  return  there, 
other  footsteps  approached  rapidly  from  the 
end  of  the  passage  he  would  have  to  trav- 
erse. There  was  but  one  chance  of  escape 
left  now  —  the  forehold  he  had  just  quitted. 
He  might  hide  there  until  the  alarm  was 
over.  He  glided  back  to  the  hatch,  lifted 
it,  and  it  closed  softly  over  his  head  as  the 
upper  hatch  was  simultaneously  raised,  and 
the  small  round  eyes  of  Abner  Nott  peered 
down  upon  it.  The  other  footsteps  proved 
to  be  Kenshaw's,  but,  attracted  by  the  open 
door  of  the  loft,  he  turned  aside  and  entered. 
As  soon  as  he  disappeared  Mr.  Nott  cau- 
tiously dropped  through  the  opening  to  the 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  226 

deck  below,  and,  going  to  the  other  hatch 
through  which  the  Lascar  had  vanished,  de- 
liberately refastened  it.  In  a  few  moments 
Eenshaw  returned  with  a  light,  and  fountf 
the  old  man  sitting  on  the  hatch. 

"  The  loft  door  was  open,"  said  Renshaw 
"  There 's  little  doubt  whoever  was  hero 
escaped  that  way." 

"  Surely,"  said  Nott.  There  was  a  peculiar 
look  of  Machiavellian  sagacity  in  his  face 
which  irritated  Renshaw. 

"  Then  you  're  sure  it  was  Ferrieres  you 
saw  pass  by  your  window  before  you  called 
me  ?  "  he  asked. 

Nott  nodded  his  head  with  an  expression 
of  infinite  profundity. 

"  But  you  say  he  was  going  from  the  ship. 
Then  it  could  not  have  been  he  who  made 
the  noise  we  heard  down  here." 

"  Mebbee  no,  and*  mebbee  yes,"  returned 
Nott,  cautiously. 

"  But  if  he  was  already  concealed  inside 
the  ship,  as  that  open  door,  which  you  say 

15 


226  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

you  barred  from  the  inside,  would  indicate, 
what  the  devil  did  he  want  with  this  ?  "  said 
Renshaw,  producing  the  monkey-wrench  he 
had  picked  up. 

Mr.  Nott  examined  the  tool  carefully,  and 
shook  his  head  with  momentous  significance. 
Nevertheless,  his  eyes  wandered  to  the  Katch 
on  which  he  was  seated. 

"  Did  you  find  anything  disturbed  there  ?" 
said  Renshaw,  following  the  direction  of 
his  eye.  "  Was  that  hatch  fastened  as  it  is 
now?" 

"  It  was,"  said  Nott,  calmly.  "  But  ye 
wouldn't  mind  fetchin'  me  a  hammer  and 
some  o'  them  big  nails  from  the  locker, 
would  yer,  while  I  hang  round  here  just  so 
ez  to  make  sure  against  another  attack." 

Renshaw  complied  with  his  request ;  but 
as  Nott  proceeded  to  gravely  nail  down  the 
fastenings  of  the  hatch,  he  turned  impatient- 
ly away  to  complete  his  examination  of  the 
ship.  The  doors  of  the  other  lofts  and  their 
fastenings  appeared  secure  and  undisturbed. 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  227 

Yet  it  was  undeniable  that  a  felonious 
entrance  had  been  made,  but,  by  whom  or 
for  what  purpose,  still  remained  uncertain. 
Even  now,  Eenshaw  found  it  'difficult  to 
accept  Nott's  theory  that  de  Ferrieres  was 
the  aggressor  and  Rosey  the  object,  nor 
could  he  justify  his  own  suspicion  that  the 
Lascar  had  obtained  a  surreptitious  entrance 
under  Sleight's  directions.  With  a  feeling 
that  if  Rosey  had  been  present  he  would 
have  confessed  all,  and  demanded  from  her 
an  equal  confidence,  he  began  to  hate  his 
feeble,  purposeless,  and  inefficient  alliance 
with  her  father,  who  believed  but  dare  not 
tax  his  daughter  with  complicity  in  this  out- 
rage. What  could  be  done  with  a  man 
whose  only  idea  of  action  at  such  a  moment 
was  to  nail  up  an  undisturbed  entrance  in 
his  invaded  house  !  He  was  so  preoccupied 
with  these  thoughts  that  when  Nott  rejoined 
him  in  the  cabin  he  scarcely  heeded  his 
presence,  and  was  entirely  oblivious  of  the 
furtive  looks  which  the  old  man  from  time 
to  time  cast  upon  his  face. 


228  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

"  I  reckon  ye  would  n't  mind,"  broke  in 
Nott,  suddenly,  "  ef  I  asked  a  favor  of  ye, 
Mr.  Renshaw.  Mebbee  ye  '11  allow  it 's  ask- 
in'  too  much  in  the  matter  of  expense ;  meb- 
bee  ye  '11  allow  it 's  askin'  too  much  in  the 
matter  o'  time.  But  /kalkilate  to  pay  all 
the  expense,  and  if  you  'd  let  me  know  what 
yer  vally  yer  time  at,  I  reckon  I  could  stand 
that.  What  I  'd  be  askin'  is  this.  Would 
ye  mind  takin'  a  letter  from  me  to  Rosey, 
and  bringin'  back  an  answer?" 

Renshaw  stared  speechlessly  at  this  absurd 
realization  of  his  wish  of  a  moment  before. 
"  I  don't  think  I  understand  you,"  he  stam- 
mered. 

"  P'r'aps  not,"  returned  Nott,  with  great 
gravity.  "  But  that 's  not  so  much  matter  to 
you  ez  your  time  and  expenses." 

"  I  meant  I  should  be  glad  to  go  if  I  can 
be  of  any  service  to  you,"  said  Renshaw, 
hastily. 

"  You  kin  ketch  the  seven  o'clock  boat 
this  morning,  and  you  '11  reach  San  Rafael 
at  ten  "  — 


A  SHIP    OF  '49.  229 

"But  I  thought  Miss  Rosey  went  to 
Petaluma,"  interrupted  Renshaw  quickly. 

Nott  regarded  him  with  an  expression  of 
patronizing  superiority.  "  That 's  what  we 
ladled  out  to  the  public  gin'rally,  and  to 
Ferrers  and  his  gang  in  par  tickler.  We  said 
Petalumey,  but  if  you  go  to  Madrono  Cot- 
tage, San  Rafael,  you  '11  find  Rosey  thar." 

If  Mr.  Renshaw  required  anything  more 
to  convince  him  of  the  necessity  of  coming  to 
some  understanding  with  Rosey  at  once  it 
would  have  been  this  last  evidence  of  her 
father's  utterly  dark  and  supremely  inscrut- 
able designs.  He  assented  quickly,  and  Nott 
handed  him  a  note. 

"  Ye  '11  be  partickler  to  give  this  inter  her 
own  hands,  and  wait  for  an  answer,"  said 
Nott  gravely. 

Resisting  the  proposition  to  enter  then 
and  there  into  an  elaborate  calculation  of  the 
value  of  his  time  and  the  expenses  of  the 
trip,  Renshaw  found  himself  at  seven  o'clock 
on  the  San  Rafael  boat.  Brief  as  was  the 


230  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

journey  it  gave  him  time  to  reflect  upon 
his  coming  interview  with  Rosey.  He  had 
resolved  to  begin  by  confessing  all;  the 
attempt  of  last  night  had  released  him  from 
any  sense  of  duty  to  Sleight.  Besides,  he 
did  not  doubt  that  Nott's  letter  contained 
some  reference  to  this  affair  only  known  to 
Nott's  dark  and  tortuous  intelligence. 


vni. 

Madrono  Cottage  lay  at  the  entrance  of  a 
little  Canada  already  green  with  the  early 
winter  rains,  and  nestled  in  a  thicket  of  the 
harlequin  painted  trees  that  gave  it  a  name. 
The  young  man  was  a  little  relieved  to  find 
that  Rosey  had  gone  to  the  post-office  a  mile 
away,  and  that  he  would  probably  overtake 
her  or  meet  her  returning  —  alone.  The  road 
—  little  more  than  a  trail  —  wound  along  the 
crest  of  the  hill  looking  across  the  Canada 
to  the  long,  dark,  heavily-wooded  flank  of 


A  SHIP   OF  '49.  231 

Mount  Tamalpais  that  rose  from  the  valley 
a  dozen  miles  away.  A  cessation  of  the 
warm  rain,  a  rift  in  the  sky,  and  the  rare 
spectacle  of  cloud  scenery,  combined  with  a 
certain  sense  of  freedom,  restored  that  light- 
hearted  gayety  that  became  him  most.  At 
a  sudden  turn  of  the  road  he  caught  sight 
of  Rosey's  figure  coming  towards  him,  and 
quickened  his  step  with  the  impulsiveness  of 
of  a  boy.  But  she  suddenly  disappeared, 
and  when  he  again  saw  her  she  was  on  the 
other  side  of  the  trail  apparently  picking  the 
leaves  of  a  manzanita.  She  had  already 
seen  him. 

Somehow  the  frankness  of  his  greeting 
was  checked.  She  looked  up  at  him  with 
cheeks  that  retained  enough  of  their  color 
to  suggest  why  she  had  hesitated,  and  said, 
"  You  here,  Mr.  Renshaw  ?  I  thought  you 
were  in  Sacramento." 

"  And  I  thought  you  were  in  Petaluma," 
he  retorted  gayly.  "I  have  a  letter  from 
your  father.  The  fact  is,  one  of  those  gen- 


232  A  SHIP  OF  >49. 

tlemen  who  has  been  haunting  the  ship  actu- 
ally made  an  entry  last  night.  Who  he  was, 
and  what  he  came  for,  nobody  knows.  Per- 
haps your  father  gives  you  his  suspicions." 
He  could  not  help  looking  at  her  narrowly 
as  he  handed  her  the  note.  Except  that  her 
pretty  eyebrows  were  slightly  raised  in  cu- 
riosity she  seemed  undisturbed  as  she  opened 
the  letter.  Presently  she  raised  her  eyes  to 
his. 

"  Is  this  all  father  gave  you  ?  " 

"All." 

"  You  're  sure  you  have  n't  dropped  any- 
thing?" 

"  Nothing.  I  have  given  you  all  he  gave 
me." 

"  And  that  is  all  it  is."  She  exhibited  the 
missive,  a  perfectly  blank  sheet  of  paper 
folded  like  a  note  ! 

Renshaw  felt  the  angry  blood  glow  in  his 
cheeks.  "  This  is  unpardonable !  I  assure 
you,  Miss  Nott,  there  must  be  some  mistake. 
He  himself  has  probably  forgotten  the  in- 


A  SHIP   OF  '49.  233 

closure,"  he  continued,  yet  with  an  inward 
conviction  that  the  act  was  perfectly  pre- 
meditated on  the  part  of  the  old  man. 

The  young  girl  held  out  her  hand  frank- 
ly. "  Don't  think  any  more  of  it,  Mr.  Ken- 
shaw.  Father  is  forgetful  at  times.  But 
tell  me  about  last  night." 

In  a  few  words  Mr.  Renshaw  briefly  but 
plainly  related  the  details  of  the  attempt  upon 
the  Pontiac,  from  the  moment  that  he  had 
been  awakened  by  Nott,  to  his  discovery  of 
the  unknown  trespasser's  flight  by  the  open 
door  to  the  loft.  When  he  had  finished,  he 
hesitated,  and  then  taking  Rosey's  hand,  said 
impulsively,  "  You  will  not  be  angry  with 
me  if  I  tell  you  all?  Your  father  firmly 
believes  that  the  attempt  was  made  by  the 
old  Frenchman,  de  Ferrieres,  with  a  view  of 
carrying  you  off." 

A  dozen  reasons  other  than  the  one  her 
father  would  have  attributed  it  to  might 
have  called  the  blood  to  her  face.  But  only 
innocence  could  have  brought  the  look  of 


234  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

astonished  indignation  to  her  eyes  as  she 
answered  quickly : 

"  Sb  that  was  what  you  were  laughing 
at?" 

"  Not  that,  Miss  Nott,"  said  the  young 
man  eagerly :  "  though  I  wish  to  God  I  could 
accuse  myself  of  nothing  more  disloyal.  Do 
not  speak,  I  beg,"  he  added  impatiently,  as 
Rosey  was  about  to  reply.  "  I  have  no  right 
to  hear  you ;  I  have  no  right  to  even  stand 
in  your  presence  until  I  have  confessed 
everything.  I  came  to  the  Pontiac  ;  1  made 
your  acquaintance,  Miss  Nott,  through  a 
fraud  as  wicked  as  anything  your  father 
charges  to  de  Ferrieres.  I  am  not  a  con- 
tractor. I  never  was  an  honest  lodger  in 
the  Pontiac.  I  was  simply  a  spy." 

"  But  you  did  n't  mean  to  be  —  it  was  some 
mistake,  was  n't  it?  "  said  Rosey,  quite  white, 
but  more  from  sympathy  with  the  offender's 
emotion  than  horror  at  the  offense. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  did  mean  it.  But  bear 
with  me  for  a  few  moments  longer  and  you 


A  SHIP   OF  >49.  235 

shall  know  all.  It 's  a  long  story.  Will  you 
walk  on,  and  —  take  my  arm  ?  You  do  not 
shrink  from  me,  Miss  Nott.  Thank  you.  I 
scarcely  deserve  the  kindness." 

Indeed  so  little  did  Rosey  shrink  that  he 
was  conscious  of  a  slight  reassuring  pressure 
on  his  arm  as  they  moved  forward,  and  for 
the  moment  I  fear  the  young  man  felt  like 
exaggerating  his  offense  for  the  sake  of  pro- 
portionate sympathy.  "  Do  you  remember," 
he  continued,  "  one  evening  when  I  told  you 
some  sea  tales,  you  said  you  always  thought 
there  must  be  some  story  about  the  Pontiac  ? 
There  was  a  story  of  the  Pontiac,  Miss  Nott 
—  a  wicked  story  —  a  terrible  story  —  which 
I  might  have  told  you,  which  I  ought  to 
have  told  you  —  which  was  the  story  that 
brought  me  there.  You  were  right,  too,  in 
saying  that  you  thought  I  had  known  the 
Pontiac  before  I  stepped  first  on  her  deck 
that  day.  I  had." 

He  laid  his  disengaged  hand  across  lightly 
on  Rosey's,  as  if  to  assure  himself  that  she 
was  listening. 


236  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

"  I  was  at  that  time  a  sailor.  I  had  been 
fool  enough  to  run  away  from  college,  think- 
ing it  a  fine  romantic  thing  to  ship  before  the 
mast  for  a  voyage  round  the  world.  I  was  a 
little  disappointed,  perhaps,  but  I  made  the 
best  of  it,  and  in  two  years  I  was  the  second 
mate  of  a  whaler  lying  in  a  little  harbor  of 
one  of  the  uncivilized  islands  of  the  Pacific. 
While  we  were  at  anchor  there  a  French 
trading  vessel  put  in,  apparently  for  water. 
She  had  the  dregs  of  a  mixed  crew  of  Las- 
cars and  Portuguese,  who  said  they  had  lost 
the  rest  of  their  men  by  desertion,  and  that 
4;he  captain  and  mate  had  been  carried  off 
by  fever.  There  was  something  so  queer  in 
their  story  that  our  skipper  took  the  law  in 
his  own  hands,  and  put  me  on  .board  of  her 
with  a  salvage  crew.  But  that  night  the 
French  crew  mutinied,  cut  the  cables,  and 
would  have  got  to  sea  if  we  had  not  been 
armed  and  prepared,  and  managed  to  drive 
them  below.  When  we  had  got  them  under 
hatches  for  a  few  hours  they  parleyed,  and 


A   SHIP   OF  '49.  237 

offered  to  go  quietly  ashore.  As  we  were 
short  of  hands  and  unable  to  take  them  with 
us,  and  as  we  had  no  evidence  against  them, 
we  let  them  go,  took  the  ship  to  Callao, 
turned  her  over  to  the  authorities,  lodged  a 
claim  for  salvage,  and  continued  our  voyage. 
"When  we  returned  we  found  the  truth  of  the 
story  was  known.  She  had  been  a  French 
trader  from  Marseilles,  owned  by  her  cap- 
tain ;  her  crew  had  mutinied  in  the  Pacific, 
killed  their  officers  and  the  only  passenger 
—  the  owner  of  the  cargo.  They  had  made 
away  with  the  cargo  and  a  treasure  of  nearly 
half  a  million  of  Spanish  gold  for  trading 
purposes  which  belonged  to  the  passenger. 
In  course  of  time  the  ship  was  sold  for  sal- 
vage and  put  into  the  South  American  trade 
until  the  breaking  out  of  the  Californian 
gold  excitement,  when  she  was  sent  with  a 
cargo  to  San  Francisco.  That  ship  was  the 
Pontiac  which  your  father  bought." 

A  slight  shudder  ran  through  the  girl's 
frame.     "  I  wish  —  I  wish  you  had  n't  told 


238  A  SHIP  OF  >49. 

me,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  never  close  my 
eyes  again  comfortably  on  board  of  her,  I 
know." 

"  I  would  say  that  you  had  purified  her 
of  all  stains  of  her  past  —  but  there  may  be 
one  that  remains.  And  that  in  most  people's 
eyes  would  be  no  detraction.  You  look 
puzzled,  Miss  Nott  —  but  I  am  coming  to 
the  explanation  and  the  end  of  my  story.  A 
ship  of  war  was  sent  to  the  island  to  pun- 
ish the  mutineers  and  pirates,  for  such  they 
were,  but  they  could  not  be  found.  A  pri- 
vate expedition  was  sent  to  discover  the 
treasure  which  they  were  supposed  to  have 
buried,  but  in  vain.  About  two  months  ago 
Mr.  Sleight  told  me  one  of  his  shipmasters 
had  sent  him  a  Lascar  sailor  who  had  to  dis- 
pose of  a  valuable  secret  regarding  the  Pon- 
tiac  for  a  percentage.  That  secret  was  that 
the  treasure  was  never  taken  by  the  muti- 
neers out  of  the  Pontiac  !  They  were  about 
to  land  and  bury  it  when  we  boarded  them. 
They  took  advantage  of  their  imprisonment 


A  SHIP  OF  >49.  239 

under  hatches  to  ~bury  it  in  the  ship.  They 
hid  it  in  the  hold  so  securely  and  safely  that 
it  was  never  detected  by  us  or  the  Callao 
authorities.  I  was  then  asked,  as  one  who 
knew  the  vessel,  to  undertake  a  private  ex- 
amination of  her,  with  a  view  of  purchasing 
her  from  your  father  without  awakening  his 
suspicions.  I  assented.  You  have  my  con- 
fession now,  Miss  Nofct.  You  know  my 
crime.  I  am  at  your  mercy." 

Rosey's  arm  only  tightened  around  his 
own.  Her  eyes  sought  his.  "  And  you 
did  n't  find  anything  ?  "  she  said. 

The  question  sounded  so  oddly  like 
Sleight's,  that  Renshaw  returned  a  little 
stiffly  — 

"I  did  n't  look." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Rosey  simply. 

"  Because,"  stammered  Renshaw,  with  an 
uneasy  consciousness  of  having  exaggerated 
his  sentiment,  "  it  did  n't  seem  honorable  ; 
it  did  n't  seem  fair  to  you." 

"  Oh  you  silly !  you  might  have  looked 
and  told  me." 


240  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

"  But,"  srid  Renshaw,  "  do  you  think  that 
would  have  been  fair  to  Sleight  ?  " 
.  "  As  fair  to  him  as  to  us.  For,  don't  you 
see,  it  would  n't  belong  to  any  of  us.  It 
would  belong  to  the  friends  or  the  family  of 
the  man  who  lost  it." 

"  But  there  were  no  heirs,"  replied  Ren- 
shaw. "  That  was  proved  by  some  impostor 
who  pretended  to  be  his  brother,  and  libelled 
the  Pontiac  at  Callao,  but  the  courts  decided 
he  was  a  lunatic." 

"  Then  it  belongs  to  the  poor  pirates  who 
risked  their  own  lives  for  it,  rather  than  to 
Sleight,  who  did  nothing."  She  was  silent 
for  a  moment,  and  then  resumed  with  ener- 
gy, "  I  believe  he  was  at  the  bottom  of  that 
attack  last  night." 

"I  have  thought  so  too,"  said  Renshaw. 

" Then  I  must  go  back,  at  once,"  she  con- 
tinued impulsively.  "Father  must  not  be 
left  alone." 

" Nor  must  you"  said  Renshaw,  quickly. 
"  Do  let  me  return  with  you,  and  share  with 


A   SHIP   OF  '49.  241 

you  and  your  father  the  trouble  I  have 
brought  upon  you.  Do  not,"  he  added  in  a 
lower  tone,  "  deprive  me  of  the  only  chance 
of  expiating  my  offense,  of  making  myself 
worthy  your  forgiveness." 

"I  am  sure,"  said  Rosey,  lowering  her 
lids  and  half  withdrawing  her  arm,  "  I  am 
sure  I  have  nothing  to  forgive.  You  did 
not  believe  the  treasure  belonged  to  us  any 
more  than  to  anybody  else,  until  you  knew 
me  "  — 

"That  is  true,"  said  the  young  man, 
attempting  to  take  her  hand. 

"  I  mean,"  said  Rosey,  blushing,  and 
showing  a  distracting  row  of  little  teeth  in 
one  of  her  infrequent  laughs,  "  oh,  you  know 
what  I  mean."  She  withdrew  her  arm 
gently,  and  became  interested  in  the  selec- 
tion of  certain  wayside  bay  leaves  as  they 
passed  along.  "All  the  same,  I  don't  be- 
lieve in  this  treasure,"  she  said  abruptly,  as 
if  to  change  the  subject.  "  I  don't  believe 
it  ever  was  hidden  inside  the  Pontiac." 

16 


242  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

"That  can  easily  be  ascertained  now," 
said  Renshaw. 

"  But  it 's  a  pity  you  did  n't  find  it  out 
while  you  were  about  it,"  said  Rosey.  "  It 
would  have  saved  so  much  talk  and  trouble." 

"  I  have  told  you  why  I  did  n't  search  the 
ship,"  responded  Renshaw,  with  a  slight  bit- 
terness. "  But  it  seems  I  could  only  avoid 
being  a  great  rascal  by  becoming  a  great 
fool." 

"  You  never  intended  to  be  a  rascal," 
said  Rosey,  earnestly,  "  and  you  could  n't 
be  a  fool,  except  in  heeding  what  a  silly 
girl  says.  I  only  meant  if  you  had  taken 
me  into  your  confidence  it  would  have  been 
better." 

"  Might  I  not  say  the  same  to  you  regard- 
ing your  friend,  the  old  Frenchman  ?  "  re- 
turned Renshaw.  "  What  if  I  were  to  con- 
fess to  you  that  I  lately  suspected  him  of 
knowing  the  secret,  and  of  trying  to  gain 
your  assistance  ?  " 

Instead  of  indignantly  repudiating  the  sug- 


A  SHIP   OF  '49.  243 

gestion,  to  the  young  man's  great  discomfi- 
ture, Eosy  only  knit  her  pretty  brows,  and 
remained  for  some  moments  silent.  Pres- 
ently she  asked  timidly,  — 

"Do  you  think  it  wrong  to  tell  another 
person's  secret  for  their  own  good  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Renshaw,  promptly. 

"  Then  I  '11  tell  you  Monsieur  de  Fer- 
rieres's!  But  only  because  I  believe  from 
what  you  have  just  said  that  he  will  turn 
out  to  have  some  right  to  the  treasure." 

Then  with  kindling  eyes,  and  a  voice  elo- 
quent with  sympathy,  Rosey  told  the  story 
of  her  accidental  discovery  of  de  Ferridres's 
miserable  existence  in  the  loft.  Clothing  it 
with  the  unconscious  poetry  of  her  fresh, 
young  imagination,  she  lightly  passed  over 
his  antique  gallantry  and  grotesque  weak- 
ness, exalting  only  his  lonely  sufferings  and 
mysterious  wrongs.  Renshaw  listened,  lost 
between  shame  for  his  late  suspicions  and 
admiration  for  her  thoughtful  delicacy,  until 
she  began  to  speak  of  de  FerriSres's  strange 


244  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

allusions  to  the  foreign  papers  in  his  port- 
manteau. "  I  think  some  were  law  papers, 
and  I  am  almost  certain  I  saw  the  word 
Callao  printed  on  one  of  them." 

"  It  may  be  so,"  said  Renshaw,  thought- 
fully. "  The  old  Frenchman  has  always 
passed  for  a  harmless,  wandering  eccentric. 
I  hardly  think  public  curiosity  has  ever  even 
sought  to  know  his  name,  much  less  his  his- 
tory. But  had  we  not  better  first  try  to  find 
if  there  is  any  property  before  we  examine 
his  claims  to  it  ?  " 

"As  you  please,"  said  Rosey,  with  a  slight 
pout ;  "  but  you  will  find  it  much  easier  to 
discover  him  than  his  treasure.  It 's  always 
easier  to  find  the  thing  you  're  not  looking 
for." 

"  Until  you  want  it,"  said  Renshaw,  with 
sudden  gravity. 

"  How  pretty  it  looks  over  there,"  said 
Rosey,  turning  her  conscious  eyes  to  the  op- 
posite mountain. 

"Very." 


A  SHIP   OF  '49.  245 

They  had  reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  and 
in  the  near  distance  the  chimney  of  Mad- 
roiio  Cottage  was  even  now  visible.  At  the 
expected  sight  they  unconsciously  stopped  — 
unconsciously  disappointed.  Rosey  broke 
the  embarrassing  silence. 

"  There  's  another  way  home,  but  it 's  a 
roundabout  way,"  she  said  timidly. 

"  Let  us  take  it,"  said  Renshaw. 

She  hesitated.  "  The  boat  goes  at  four, 
and  we  must  return  to-night." 

"The  more  reason  why  we  should  make 
the  most  of  our  time  now,"  said  Renshaw 
with  a  faint  smile.  "  To-morrow  all  things 
may  be  changed;  to-morrow  you  may  find 
yourself  an  heiress,  Miss  Nott.  To-morrow," 
he  added,  with  a  slight  tremor  in  his  voice, 
"  I  may  have  earned  your  forgiveness,  only 
to  say  farewell  to  you  forever.  Let  me 
keep  this  sunshine,  this  picture,  this  com- 
panionship with  you  long  enough  to  say  now 
what  perhaps  I  must  not  say  to-morrow." 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then 


246  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

by  a  common  instinct  turned  together  into  a 
narrow  trail,  scarce  wide  enough  for  two, 
that  diverged  from  the  straight  practical 
path  before  them.  It  was  indeed  a  round- 
about way  home,  so  roundabout,  in  fact, 
that  as  they  wandered  on  it  seemed  even 
to  double  on  its  track,  occasionally*  linger- 
ing long  and  becoming  indistinct  under  the 
shadow  of  madrono  and  willow ;  at  one  time 
stopping  blindly  before  a  fallen  tree  in  the 
hollow,  where  they  had  quite  lost  it,  and 
had  to  sit  down  to  recall  it ;  a  rough  way, 
often  requiring  the  mutual  help  of  each 
other's  hands  and  eyes  to  tread  together  in 
security ;  an  uncertain  way,  not  to  be  found 
without  whispered  consultation  and  conces- 
sion, and  yet  a  way  eventually  bringing  them 
hand  in  hand,  happy  and  hopeful,  to  the 
gate  of  Madrono  Cottage.  And  if  there 
was  only  just  time  for  Rosey  to  prepare  to 
take  the  boat,  it  was  due  to  the  deviousness 
of  the  way.  If  a  stray  curl  was  lying  loose 
on  Rosey's  cheek,  and  a  long  hair  had  caught 


A  SHIP   OF  '49.  247 

in  Renshaw's  button,  it  was  owing  to  the 
roughness  of  the  way ;  and  if  in  the  tones  of 
their  voices .  and  in  the  glances  of  their  eyes 
there  was  a  maturer  seriousness,  it  was  due 
to  the  dim  uncertainty  of  the  path  they  had 
traveled,  and  would  hereafter  tread  together. 


IX. 

When  Mr.  Nott  had  satisfied  himself  of 
Renshaw's  departure,  he  coolly  bolted  the 
door  at  the  head  of  the  companion  way,  thus 
cutting  off  any  communication  with  the 
lower  deck.  Taking  a  long  rifle  from  the 
rack  above  his  berth,  he  carefully  examined 
the  hammer  and  cap,  and  then  cautiously 
let  himself  down  through  the  forehatch  to 
the  deck  below.  After  a  deliberate  survey 
of  the  still  intact  fastenings  of  the  hatch 
over  the  forehold,  he  proceeded  quietly  to 
unloose  them  again  with  the  aid  of  the  tools 
that  still  lay  there.  When  the  hatch  was 


248  A   SHIP   OF  '49. 

once  more  free  he  lifted  it,  and,  withdraw- 
ing a  few  feet  from  the  opening,  sat  himself 
down,  rifle  in  hand.  A  profound  silence 
reigned  throughout  the  lower  deck. 

"  Ye  kin  rize  up  out  o'  that,"  said  Nott 
gently. 

There  was  a  stealthy  rustle  below  that 
seemed  to  approach  the  hatch,  and  then  with 
a  sudden  bound  the  Lascar  leaped  on  the 
deck.  But  at  the  same  instant  Nott  covered 
him  with  his  rifle.  A  slight  shade  of  disap- 
pointment and  surprise  had  crossed  the  old 
man's  face,  and  clouded  his  small  round  eyes 
at  the  apparition  of  the  Lascar,  but  his  hand 
was  none  the  less  firm  upon  the  trigger  as 
the  frightened  prisoner  sank  on  his  knees, 
with  his  hands  clasped  in  the  -  attitude  of 
supplication  for  mercy. 

"  Ef  you  're  thinkin'  o'  skippin'  afore  I  've 
done  with  yer,"  said  Nott  with  labored  gen- 
tleness, "  I  oughter  warn  ye  that  it 's  my  style 
to  drop  Injins  at  two  hundred  yards,  and 
this  deck  ain't  anywhere  more  'n  fifty.  It 's 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  249 

an  uncomfortable  style,  a  nasty  style  —  but 
it 's  my  style.  I  thought  I  'd  tell  yer,  so  yer 
could  take  it  easy  where  you  air.  Where  's 
Ferrers?" 

Even  in  the  man's  insane  terror,  his  utter 
bewilderment  at  the  question  was  evident. 
"  Ferrers  ?  "  he  gasped ;  "  don't  know  him, 
I  swear  to  God,  boss." 

"P'r'aps,"  said  Nott,  with  infinite  cunning, 
"  yer  don't  know  the  man  ez  kem  into  the 
loft  from  the  alley  last  night  —  p'r'aps  yer 
did  n't  see  an  airy  Frenchman  with  a  dyed 
moustache,  eh?  I  thought  that  would  fetch 
ye !  "  he  continued,  as  the  man  started  at 
the  evidence  that  his  vision  of  last  night  was 
a  living  man.  "  P'r'aps  you  and  him  did  n't 
break  into  this  ship  last  night,  jist  to  run 
off  with  my  darter  Rosey  ?  P'r'aps  yer  don't 
know  Rosey,  eh  ?  P'r'aps  yer  don't  know  ez 
Ferrers  wants  to  marry  her,  and  hez  been 
hangin'  round  yer  ever  since  he  left  —  eh  ?  " 

Scarcely  believing  the  evidence  of  his 
senses  that  the  old  man  whose  treasure  he 


250  A   SHIP   OF  '49. 

had  been  trying  to  steal  was  utterly  ignorant 
of  his  real  offense,  and  yet  uncertain  of  the 
penalty  of  the  other  crime  of  which  he  was 
accused,  the  Lascar  writhed  his  body  and 
stammered  vaguely,  "  Mercy  !  Mercy !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Nott,  cautiously,  "  ez  I  reck- 
on the  hide  of  a  dead  Chinee  nigger  ain't 
any  more  vallyble  than  that  of  a  dead  In- 
jin,  I  don't  care  ef  I  let  up  on  yer  —  seein' 
the  cussedness  ain't  yours.  But  ef  I  let  yer 
off  this  once,  you  must  take  a  message  to 
Ferrers  from  me." 

"  Let  me  off  this  time,  boss,  and  I  swear 
to  God  I  will,"  said  the  Lascar  eagerly. 

"  Ye  kin  'say  to  Ferrers  —  let  me  see  "  — 
deliberated  Nott,  leaning  on  his  rifle  with 
cautious  reflection.  "Ye  kin  say  to  Ferrers 
like  this  —  sez  you,  '  Ferrers,'  sez  you,  '  the 
old  man  sez  that  afore  you  went  away  you 
sez  to  him,  sez  you,  "  I  take  my  honor  with 
me,"  sez  you '  —  have  you  got  that  ?  "  inter- 
rupted Nott  suddenly. 

"Yes,  boss." 


A  SHIP  OF  >49.  251 

" '  I  take  my  honor  with  me,'  sez  you,"  re- 
peated Nott  slowly.  "  '  Now,'  sez  you  — '  the 
old  man  sez,  sez  he  —  tell  Ferrers,  sez  he, 
that  his  honor  havin'  run  away  agin,  he 
sends  it  back  to  him,  and  ef  he  ever  ketches 
it  around  after  this,  he  '11  shoot  it  on  sight.' 
Hev  yer  got  that  ?  " 

"Yes,"  stammered  the  bewildered  captive. 

"Then  git!" 

The  Lascar  sprang  to  his  feet  with  the 
agility  of  a  panther,  leaped  through  the  hatch 
above  him,  and  disappeared  over  the  bow  of 
the  ship  with  an  unhesitating  directness  that 
showed  that  every  avenue  of  escape  had  been 
already  contemplated  by  him.  Slipping 
lightly  from  the  cutwater  to  the  ground,  he 
continued  his  flight,  only  stopping  at  the 
private  office  of  Mr.  Sleight. 

When  Mr.  Renshaw  and  Rosey  Nott  ar- 
rived on  board  the  Pontiac  that  evening,  they 
were  astonished  to  find  the  passage  before  the 
cabin  completely  occupied  with  trunks  and 
boxes,  and  the  fculk  of  their  household  goods 


252  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

apparently  in  the  process  of  removal.  Mr. 
Nott,  who  was  superintending  the  work  of 
two  Chinamen,  betrayed  not  only  no  surprise 
at  the  appearance  of  the  young  people,  but 
not  the  remotest  recognition  of  their  own 
bewilderment  at  his  occupation. 

"  Kalkilatin',''  he  remarked  casually  to 
his  daughter,  "  you  'd  rather  look  arter  your 
fixin's,  Rosey,  I  've  left  'em  till  the  last. 
PYaps  yer  and  Mr.  Eenshaw  would  n't  mind 
sittin'  down  on  that  locker  until  I've  strapped 
this  yer  box." 

"  But  what  does  it  all  mean  father  ? " 
said  Rosey,  taking  the  old  man  by  the  lap- 
pels  of  his  pea-jacket,  and  slightly  emphasiz- 
ing her  question.  "  What  in  the  name  of 
goodness  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"  Breakiu'  camp,  Rosey  clear,  breakin' 
camp,  jist  ez  we  uster,"  replied  Nott  with 
cheerful  philosophy.  "  Kinder  like  ole  times, 
ain't  it?  Lord,  Rosey,"  he  continued,  stop- 
ping and  following  up  the  reminiscence,  with 
the  end  of  the  rope  in  his  hand  as  if  it  were 


A   SHIP  OF  '49.  253 

a  clue,  "  don't  ye  mind  that  day  we  started 
outer  Livermore  Pass,  and  seed  the  hull  o' 
the  Calif orny  coast  stretchin'  yonder  —  eh? 
But  don't  ye  be  skeered,  Eosey  dear,"  he 
added  quickly,  as  if  in  recognition  of  the 
alarm  expressed  in  her  face.  "  I  ain't  turn- 
ing ye  outer  house  and  home  ;  I  've  jist  hired 
that  'ere  Madrono  Cottage  from  the  Peters 
ontil  we  kin  look  round." 

"  But  you  're  not  leaving  the  ship,  fa- 
ther," continued  Rosey,  impetuously.  "You 
have  n't  sold  it  to  that  man  Sleight  ?  " 

Mr.  Nott  rose  and  carefully  closed  the 
cabin  door.  Then  drawing  a  large  wallet 
from  his  pocket,  he  said,  "  It 's  sing'lar  ye 
should  hev  got  the  name  right  the  first  pop, 
ain't  it  Rosey?  but  it 's  Sleight,  sure  enough, 
all  the  time.  This  yer  check,"  he  added, 
producing  a  paper  from  the  depths  of  the 
wallet,  "  this  yer  check  for  25,000  dollars  is 
wot  he  paid  for  it  only  two  hours  ago." 

"  But,"  said  Renshaw,  springing  to  his 
feet  furiously,  "you're  duped,  swindled  — 
betrayed !  " 


254  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

"  Young  man,"  said  Nott,  throwing  a  cer- 
tain dignity  into  his  habitual  gesture  of  plac- 
ing his  hands  on  Renshaw's  shoulders,  "  I 
bought  this  yer  ship  five  years  ago  jist  ez 
she  stood  for  8,000  dollars.  Kalkilatin'  wot 
she  cost  me  in  repairs  and  taxes,  and  wot  she 
brought  me  in  since  then,  accordin'  to  my 
figgerin',  I  don't  call  a  clear  profit  of  15,000 
dollars  much  of  a  swindle." 

"  Tell  him  all,"  said  Eosey,  quickly,  more 
alarmed  at  Renshaw's  despairing  face  than 
at  the  news  itself.  "Tell  him  everything, 
Dick  —  Mr.  Renshaw  ;  it  may  not  .be  too 
late." 

In  a  voice  half  choked  with  passionate  in- 
dignation Renshaw  hurriedly  repeated  the 
story  of  the  hidden  treasure,  and  the  plot 
to  rescue  it,  prompted  frequently  by  Rosey's 
tenacious  memory  and  assisted  by  Rosey's 
deft  and  tactful  explanations.  But  to  their 
surprise  the  imperturbable  countenance  of 
Abner  Nott  never  altered ;  a  slight  moist- 
ure of  kindly  paternal  tolerance  of  their  ex- 


A  SHIP  OF  >49.  255 

travagance  glistened  in  his  little  eyes,  but 
nothing  more. 

"  Ef  there  was  a  part  o'  this  ship,  a  plank 
or  a  bolt  ez  I  don't  know,  ez  I  hev  n't  touched 
with  my  own  hand,  and  looked  into  with 
my  own  eyes,  thar  might  be  suthin'  in  that 
story.  I  don't  let  on  to  be  a  sailor  like  you, 
but  ez  I  know  the  ship  ez  a  boy  knows  his 
first  hoss,  as  a  woman  knows  her  first  babby, 
I  reckon  thar  ain't  110  treasure  yer,  onless  it 
was  brought  into  the  Pontiac  last  night  by 
them  chaps." 

"But  are  you  mad!  Sleight  would  not 
pay  three  times  the  value  of  the  ship  to-day 
if  he  were  not  positive  !  And  that  positive 
knowledge  was  gained  last  night  by  the 
villain  who  broke  into  the  Pontiac  —  no 
doubt  the  Lascar." 

"  Surely,"  said  Nott,  meditatively.  "  The 
Lascar!  There's  suthin'  in  that.  That 
Lascar  I  fastened  down  in  the  hold  last 
night  unbeknownst  to  you,  Mr.  Renshaw, 
and  let  him  out  again  this  morning  ekally 
unbeknownst." 


256  A  SHIP  OF  >49. 

"  And  you  let  him  carry  his  information 
to  Sleight  —  without  a  word!"  said  Ren- 
shaw,  with  a  sickening  sense  of  Nott's  utter 
fatuity. 

"  I  sent  him  back  with  a  message  to  the 
man  he  kem  from,"  said  Nott,  winking  both 
his  eyes  at  Renshaw,  significantly,  and  mak- 
ing signs  behind  his  daughter's  back. 

Rosey,  conscious  of  her  lover's  irritation, 
and  more  eager  to  soothe  his  impatience 
than  from  any  faith  in  her  suggestion,  inter- 
fered. "  Why  not  examine  the  place  where 
he  was  concealed  ?  he  may  have  left  some 
traces  of  his  search." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other. 
"  Seein'  ez  I  've  turned  the  Pontiac  over  to 
Sleight  jist  ez  it  stands,  I  don't  know  ez  it's 
'zactly  on  the  square,"  said  Nott  doubtfully. 

"  You  've  a  right  to  know  at  least  what 
you  deliver  to  him,"  interrupted  Renshaw 
brusquely :  "  Bring  a  lantern." 

Followed  by  Rosey,  Renshaw  and  Nott 
hurriedly  sought  the  lower  deck  and  the 


A   SHIP   OF  >49.  257 

open  hatch  of  the  forehold.  The  two  men 
leaped  down  first  with  the  lantern,  and  then 
assisted  Rosey  to  descend.  Renshaw  took  a 
step  forward  and  uttered  a  cry. 

The  rays  of  the  lantern  fell  on  the  ship's 
side.  The  Lascar  had,  during  his  forced 
seclusion,  put  back  the  boxes  of  treasure 
and  replaced  the  planking,  yet  not  so  care- 
fully but  that  the  quick  eye  of  Renshaw  had 
discovered  it.  The  next  moment  he  had 
stripped  away  the  planking  again,  and  the 
hurriedly-restored  box  which  the  Lascar  had 
found  fell  to  the  deck,  scattering  part  of  its 
ringing  contents.  Rosey  turned  pale  ;  Ren- 
shaw's  eyes  flashed  fire ;  only  Abner  Nott 
remained  quiet  and  impassive. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  you  have  been  duped?" 
said  Renshaw  passionately. 

To  their  surprise  Mr.  Nott  stooped  down, 
and  picking  up  one  of  the  coins  handed  it 
gravely  to  Renshaw.  "Would  ye  mind 
hef tin'  that  'ere  coin  in  your  hand  —  f eelin' 
it,  bitin'  it,  scrapin'  it  with  a  knife,  and 

17 


258  A  SHIP   OF  '49. 

kinder  seein'  how  it  compares  with  other 
coins  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Renshaw. 

"  I  mean  that  that  yer  coin  —  that  all  the 
coins  in  this  yer  box,  that  all  the  coins  in 
them  other  boxes  —  and  ther  's  forty  on  'em 
—  is  all  and  every  one  of  'em  counterfeits  !  " 

The  piece  dropped  unconsciously  from 
Renshaw' s  hand,  and  striking  another  that 
lay  on  the  deck  gave  out  a  dull,  suspicious 
ring. 

"  They  waz  counterfeits  got  up  by  them 
Dutch  supercargo  sharps  for  dealin'  with  the 
Injins  and  cannibals  and  South  Sea  heathens 
ez  bows  down  to  \vood  and  stone.  It  satis- 
fied them  ez  well  ez  them  buttons  ye  puts  in 
missionary  boxes,  I  reckon,  and  'cepting  ez 
freight,  don't  cost  nothin'.  I  found  'em 
tucked  in  the  ribs  o'  the  old  Pontiac  when  I 
bought  her,  and  I  nailed  'em  up  in  thar  lest 
they  should  fall  into  dishonest  hands.  It 's  a 
lucky  thing,  Mr.  Renshaw,  that  they  comes 
into  the  honest  fingers  of  a  square  man  like 
Sleight  —  ain't  it  ?  " 


A  SHIP  OF  '49.  259 

He  turned  his  small,  guileless  eyes  upon 
Renshaw  with  such  child-like  simplicity  that 
it  checked  the  hysterical  laugh  that  was  ris- 
ing to  the  young  man's  lips. 

"  But  did  any  one  know  of  this  but  your- 
self?" 

"  I  reckon  not.  I  once  suspicioned  that 
old  Cap'en  Bowers,  who  was  always  foolin' 
round  the  hold  yer,  must  hev  noticed  the 
bulge  in  the  casin',  but  when  he  took  to 
axin'  questions  I  axed  others  —  ye  know  my 
style,  Rosey?  Come." 

He  led  the  way  grimly  back  to  the  cabin, 
the  young  people  following ;  but  turning 
suddenly  at  the  companion  way  he  observed 
Renshaw's  arm  around  the  waist  of  his 
daughter.  He  said  nothing  until  they  had 
reached  the  cabin,  when  he  closed  the  door 
softly,  and  looking  at  them  both  gently,  said 
with  infinite  cunning  — 

"  Ef  it  is  n't  too  late,  Rosey,  ye  kin  tell 
this  young  man  ez  how  I  forgive  him  for 
havin'  diskivered  THE  TREASURE  of  the 
Pontiac." 


260  A  SHIP  OF  '49. 

It  was  nearly  eighteen  months  afterwards 
that  Mr.  Nott  one  morning  entered  the  room 
of  his  son-in-law  at  Mandrono  Cottage. 
Drawing  him  aside,  he  said  with  his  old  air 
of  mystery,  "  Now  ez  Rosey  's  ailin'  and 
don't  seem  to  be  so  eager  to  diskiver  what 's 
become  of  Mr.  Ferrers,  I  don't  mind  tellin' 
ye  that  over  a  year  ago  I  heard  he  died  sud- 
denly in  Sacramento.  Thar  was  suthin'  in 
the  paper  about  his  bein'  a  lunatic  and 
claimin'  to  be  a  relation  to  somebody  on  the 
Pontiac ;  but  likes  ez  not  it 's  only  the  way 
those  newspaper  fellows  got  hold  of  the  story 
of  his  wantin'  to  marry  Rosey." 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last 
date  stamped  below. 


LD-URL* 


,     ; 


10M-11-50(2955)470 


11WJ 
967 


B    000014206    7 


PS 

1829 

B98 


